An Honest Bone
by planet p
Summary: Season 2; AU - Nina's having a crazy day. Can it get even crazier? She'll soon see. **Not quite a Christmas fic** Nina/Sam, perhaps. Yes, probably very OOC... Ugh!
1. Chapter 1

Somehow, when she'd woken up this morning, this wasn't exactly where Nina Sharp had envisioned herself being at 11am – standing in the middle of a busy thoroughfare in an equally busy, and fairly bustling, department store, feeling lost and strangely uncertain of herself, with the vague idea of finding (and purchasing) Christmas gifts for a bunch of people she, in all honesty, barely knew. Though, in honesty, she _had_ known Walter, once.

She didn't exactly know why she'd had to come here, of all places, to buy her Christmas gifts, she might have just as well bought something glitzy and _très_ expensive from some exclusive online boutique – it wasn't as though she was strapped for cash, after all – and, had she done that, she'd never have had to leave her home and immerse herself in this chaotic, milling mass of complete strangers that, to be perfectly honest, left her feeling distinctly uncomfortable underneath her designer clothes. Underneath, she was just another person – and she had her insecurities like the rest. But maybe this way was more honest, more genuine, she thought; maybe that was why she'd come out here, to this department store with its tinny Christmas music that made her want to seriously grit her teeth: because though it was the thought that count, actions always spoke louder than words. Or something like that.

A department store may not have been her best option for the task at hand, but it was a place to start, and she fully intended on getting something nice (something thoughtful) for her "associates". For Agent Dunham. And, of course, for Peter and Walter, and a few others. She'd have to remember to get something for Astrid, too, the poor dear. She would have to find something for Brandon, of course, she reminded herself. Something novel and witty, but at the same time a bit... "nerdy". Heavens above, she couldn't help but wonder if she actually meant to torture herself! She'd never been particularly good at gift-giving. What had she gotten herself in for?

For a moment or two, she actually considered giving in and merely sending out Christmas cards emblazoned with the company's logo, but her conscience chose that moment to pull a most decidedly dirty face at her. As if, Neens!

She could just imagine how impressed they'd all be by that – not to mention the fact that she'd sent them Massive Dynamic's annual charity-fundraising X-mas cards. They'd break out in fits of scoffs and laughter, if not hives! They already saw William's company as one of the great "evils" of the world, she was sure.

She wasn't just being paranoid, either. She could hardly help notice the sheen of disgust and contempt that came over their eyes when they had occasion to step foot in her office, or any part of the building really. And, what was more, sometimes, they even succeeded in making her _feel_ like a petty criminal. Not that she would ever admit to such a thing, not that she even _believed_ such a thing, but nonetheless, her feelings could not be denied. Denying them would be counter-productive. She couldn't secrete them away someplace and, at the same time, deal with them. To do that, she had to admit to them. Which she did, of course. She knew what non-admittance could do to a person, and she didn't like the effects. Not a single iota.

Still, here she was, helplessly looking around for something to buy for a bunch of people who, odds were, didn't even _like_ her. Maybe she just had a little bit of a soft spot, or something, but she didn't care. She hardly had any family of her own to buy things for, and she felt... perhaps "pointless" was the right word. Then again, "bereft" was just as good a word, too. She just couldn't stop thinking about how she'd told Dunham "I would say this to my own daughter" when the simple fact was, she wasn't a parent – she didn't know what that felt like, in reality! And maybe, somewhere deep inside, it hurt a little, for that. Maybe she'd have liked to have been a parent; maybe, in another life. Her mind was always weaselling out of it somehow, but she was determined this year. She'd buy some people some frickin' Christmas presents and feel like she fit in with this world somehow, even if that "somehow" was massively superfluous and superficial.

In the end, the truth was, the only Christmas party she'd be invited to would be the office do. As sad as it was, it was also true.

She had money and notoriety and she wore all the right clothes, but she was just another person. More than that, a real no-hoper when it came to "life". Yes, she'd made good of her career, but that was _all_ she'd made good of.

Sometimes, the fact depressed her.

Like today.

Today, it depressed her no end.

She could easily have been elsewhere, perpetuating her workaholic tendencies, avoiding the blow of reality, but here she was. Alone.

Always alone.

Her reward: a coffee later in the food court. Hardly a gem of a thing, but slightly comforting anyway. She did like coffee.

.

Browsing for Christmas cards, she couldn't help the wave of surprise that momentarily stole over her at seeing a familiar face, and the little pinch of happiness in her chest she stoically ignored. Her fingers slid from the revolving rack of cards she'd been examining moments before and she stepped away from it, her worries about finding the card that was _just_right momentarily forgotten. Absurd as it was to say, under the artificial lights of the store, beaming down on them all, she actually felt brighter – her day actually felt sunnier.

Behave, she told herself silently. You don't want to frighten the poor guy away. Don't be pulling any glittery-eyed, rosy-cheeked antics, now. That would be disingenuous and frightening, and not at all the truth. You're just friends... Acquaintances, really. So be good, Nina. You never know, he may stick around to help you out with the presents predicament.

A second later, she thought, scathingly, You'd be so lucky! "Acquaintances" was hardly the word, either. They were more like associates, but she had to confess, a little whimsically, she liked the sounds of acquaintances better, herself.

Unfastening the smile that was slowly creeping into her eyes and re-affixing a professional edge to her mouth, she said, "Sam," by way of announcing herself, and prayed the guy didn't scuttle.

For the barest of moments, Sam's eyes widened, and he stared at the cards in front of him with something close to Oh, shit! written in his eyes. He might have been a little wary that somebody had actually recognised him, and in public, no less! He might have been thinking, Oh, God, how... weird! Or it might just have been the fact that that someone was Nina, of all people, that lent proper meaning to the Oh God! part. To say nothing of the Save me! part.

Needless to say, Nina shut out the part of her mind that was busy spinning theory upon theory, and merely waited for Sam to say something, even just anything.

"Nina. How nice to see you again!"

She couldn't have fooled herself if she'd just then concussed herself on the shelf full of cards she was standing beside. The look in his eyes was painful, the tone, painful. His smile, painful. And utterly forced. Yes, he wasn't overly thrilled to see her, that much was a given.

She tried not to deflate on the spot. Her expensive, designer clothes didn't look much good, or make her look much good, when she was all gloomy-faced. Besides the fact that she'd probably curl up and die of shame to have Sam see her looking so dejected over his apparent rejection, it was as good a reason as any not to let on that she felt a little – maybe a lot – hurt.

Roughly shoving aside her hurt, she quickly plucked a response from some automatic place and said, "Likewise, Mr. Weiss."

"You look well," Sam returned, his voice a little softer now that he'd had time to adjust to the shock of seeing her.

Hopefully, Nina thought, he wouldn't assume she'd been stalking him. She _so_ hadn't been, but it took all types, these days. And these days, paranoia seemed rather fashionable. Even she could attest to that: wasn't she just the one _hoping_ he wasn't thinking she was some crazed stalker.

"Thank you," she replied, in return. On an after thought, adding, "I should very well hope so. Last year, my New Year's resolution was to cut back on unhealthy foods, and I think I've stuck with that resolution very well."

"No more French fries and ketchup?"

"Very occasionally, Sam. Very occasionally."

"Well, good on you, Nina."

Yeah. Go me! she thought dully. The look in his eye might have relaxed a little, but his vibes still clearly screamed, You're torturing me! Ohgodohgod, leave me alone! Or maybe that was her mind inventing such things; though, were that the case, she couldn't think why. So it was probably true.

She didn't want it to be, but people got like that around her. She _intruded_ too much. Somehow, someway, she just _did_. And they felt it, like it was something digging away under their skin, hurting them, paining them.

Smiling didn't seem to make it stop, she'd tried that too. Nothing she did could seem to make it stop, or even ease it a little, so, through the years, she'd kind of just given up trying to do anything about it. She was just destined to be alone, to be the person who unnerved other people and instinctively led them to keep their distance. She just wasn't all that personable.

But enough of that, she thought now, annoyed at her sudden dark thoughts and gloominess of sentiment.

Sam was already looking for a way to escape her clutches, she could just tell, but she swept a hand out in front of her anyway, gesturing around at the cards and other gift-related things, the wrapping paper and gift bags and boxes in the accompanying aisles. "It's all wonderfully fun, I've got to say. I'm trying to decide on the right cards, but it's nerve-wracking. To say the least. How are you doing?"

"Just checking out what's out there, really. I don't really have anyone to send cards to, anyway." Trying for a little humour to offset his nervousness, he added, "Short of picking names out of a phone book at random..."

Nina didn't smile. She wanted to, which was really exactly why she didn't. Maybe Sam _thought_ he wanted her to smile, to break down a little of the awkwardness between them, but he didn't know the first thing about what he was getting himself into going down that path. Things between them weren't the same as they'd been years ago. Time had gone past; life, it seemed, had sped by, and now she realised just how little she'd lived. Yes, she'd "done" a lot, _achieved_ a lot – a lot more than a great many people did in their entire lives – but she hadn't really _lived_, hadn't really done much of anything.

And Sam's attempt at making friends didn't help the longing inside. In fact, it made it rather more awful, keener, in some way. And yes, it just had to be because she was that teensy bit attracted to the guy, but what of it? Why not? He was a nice person, and he didn't look half bad. Anyone could see he wasn't someone who'd mess you around, if he decided to give a damn and care about you. But Nina didn't need to look at him to see it, she already knew all that. She'd known it for a long time.

You're getting off-topic, Neen, her ever efficient inner voice reminded her. Back to business, eh. Pining over boys is for schoolgirls, which you are not.

She almost scoffed. Pft! What a pessimist! Girl, you are a downer for sure! It was little wonder people found her hard to stomach, she thought, if these were the types of silent messages she was sending. She really had no business buying into the whole Love has an age limit agenda. She wasn't some best-selling romance author, she didn't have a demographic to market to (or a "line" to keep in line of); she could believe what she jolly well pleased, if she so pleased!

Nonetheless, she conceded sadly, she was a consumer, and in some way, a sponge for these mass-market, mass-media agendas. It was another sad but true fact of Nina's existence. She still _really_ missed French fries, and every time she thought of them, she missed them all the more. It was a little like how she felt about Agent Dunham – Olivia. No, she wasn't in love with the woman (not even in any small way; the way a school teacher sometimes fell in love with a student, in an entirely non-sexual way), but if Olivia had been her daughter, she'd have loved her. She'd have loved her. Heck, if Brandon had been her son, she wouldn't even have turned her nose up at him. He was a smart kid, a little quirky, but smart, and he wasn't such a bad thing. She just... missed some things. Sometimes, they weren't even things she knew anything about, really; they were just the sort of things that people took for granted, the things that made you a "person", that made you "human".

Like love. Like tenderness. Like the comfort of having someone just be there, and of being able to be there for someone else.

Cutting that thought short, she said, "Well, I know who I'm getting cards for, I just don't know which ones are the right ones, or if, indeed, I should even be bothering myself with such complicated musings. Surely, being that they're Christmas cards, something rather standard would suffice." She considered that line of thought. "But I don't want to get the same card for everyone; that'll just end up more awkward than anything, especially when they compare cards and see I've got them all the same one." She shuddered. "This gift-giving/card-giving thing really is a disaster zone in the making."

"But it's supposed to be fun, Nina," Sam told her, with a smile.

A smile that, for a nice change, was actually genuine.

Nina instantly felt like shrinking back. She liked Sam. Him, smiling, sounding upbeat and friendly, made it ten times worse! Maybe she could hide behind the card rack she'd been examining earlier, or pretend Brandon had rung her on her cell phone with some really very important news...

"I realise that, yes," she replied tersely, hoping he wouldn't see through her tactic and just take her tone for what it was meant to be, a snob-off. "Unfortunately, one doesn't have all the time in the world, nor unlimited leisure. I, myself, would be perfectly happy to assign the whole business to my assistant, Danielle; however, I can wholly imagine Danielle's horror at such a thing, so, here I am! Not enjoying it, I must say, Sam! Not a whole lot! Can anyone say 'tedious' any more clearly?"

That seemed to do the trick because what little warm light had been harbouring in Sam's eyes died down and he replied, "That's hardly the Christmas spirit, Nina."

"Pff!" She laughed annoyingly, the equivalent of flouncing a hand airily in his face and declaring pompously, What a silly idea! "I had no idea you went in for such vulgar notions, Sam. Someone like you; intelligent, quick-witted? Sam, you don't need all that. It's little more than a sham to put money in pockets. And take it out of others! You're quite the amusing man."

He sighed. "I see that, Nina. And you're quite the amusing woman, yourself."

"Oh, I do make an effort," she told him, feigning obliviousness at his hurt Look at yourself, why don't you? quip. She didn't really want him to go, not really, but another part of her couldn't wait for him to be gone already. She was hurting him and that hurt, yes, and it would hurt when he was gone, but she had to do this. She just... had to! She couldn't keep him around because that would hurt even more, and not just for her, she knew. She hurt people. She always did.

She just always did.

She was hoping she wouldn't have to go any further than she already had, wouldn't have to inflict any more damage, when Sam said, "Nina, I think I should go."

In perfect keeping with her earlier comment, she frowned and waved a hand, deliberately failing to see how he could say something like that. "No! You don't-"

"Yes, I think I do. I'm holding you up. You're obviously busy."

"Yes, well, it comes with the job."

"There you go," he replied quickly. "Goodbye, Nina."

She was slightly disappointed that once he'd decided to cut and run he wasn't sticking around to beat about the bush, but it was the right thing to do, she could see that, too. Why pretend any longer? "Always a pleasure, Sam!" she said, though it sounded, to her ears, at least, incredibly bitchy. She'd been the one to piss him off, now she was playing like she was his best friend. Ugh!

She didn't say "Merry Christmas", like she'd have liked, but Sam was already walking away and probably wouldn't have stopped and replied anyway. She told herself she didn't mind; she had things to be getting back to. Important things.

Things that wouldn't make her want to cry.

.

Sitting in the Starbucks later, she found herself watching a group of teenagers lounging casually in a booth nearby, laughing and smiling. She had no idea what they were talking about, but they looked at ease. At ease with their paths in life, and with the world. With each other.

She looked away, trying not to think how if she hadn't stuffed things up with Sam they could have been sitting here together, talking about whatever, but together, not alone. This thing with Sam, was just a momentary fixation, that was all. It had to be. Logically, what else could it be? She wasn't in love with him. The very idea was ludicrous. And she didn't like the idea of starting something with someone she'd so easily be able to fob off for other "more important" things, or just because she wasn't all that interested, just then. She wasn't about to get started with someone she wasn't wholly invested in, and as that wasn't the case with anyone, at current, then she'd just be, as she had been for a long time, on her own. Single.

And hopefully, she'd stop thinking about it so much, and the pain would dull to a level where she almost wouldn't feel it, where she'd almost be able to put it out of her mind; at least, when she had "more important" things to concern herself.

She'd managed fine on her own, hadn't she? With the cards and the gifts. She'd finally got through the "tediousness" of it; she had a right to feel good about herself now. But somehow, not even that was enough to lighten her mood.

.

Brandon was laughing; the look on Danielle's face said she was unimpressed. Sure, she hadn't told Brandon to jump, but she'd have liked to. She sure would have liked to tell him that, rather than suffer through listening to what he had to say, or "ramble" on about. Any day!

Conscious of any onlookers, Danielle quickly pasted a fake smile to her face and pretended to be really interested in whatever prattle Brandon was now going on about. It all went right over her head and seemed so pointless, but Brandon wasn't a mind-reader; he had no idea what she thought of him – he was _so_ unattractive, it actually pained her to think of the poor girls he'd undoubtably asked out, and undoubtably would, in the future – what did it even matter if she lied and played along to please the masses?

Despite her false front, Danielle probably thought no-one had been watching, she probably thought no-one had noticed how annoyed she was that Brandon wasn't moving on, and, God!, he was scaring away anyone else who might want to talk to her, for goodness sakes! She'd got all dressed up for this Christmas party thing, and now Brandon was royally screwing it up for her. How irritating! Like any hunky, just-happen-to-be-loaded guys were going to walk up to her with Brandon making her look as big a fool as he was making himself look. Yeah right!

She probably thought she was fairly safe from recriminations, because even if anyone had been watching, they'd totally get what she was going through and, if they weren't silently laughing at her misery, they'd feel bad for her. She didn't think anyone could possibly have felt bad for Brandon, because, well, the fact was... the guy was just way too ick!

Nina, standing alone, watching them both from across the room, wasn't very happy. For either of them. Danielle didn't have to be so mean, and she could have just told Brandon she wasn't interested in talking with him, and been honest, rather than lying to protect her "image" when, in truth, she was really starting to hate the guy, and even more by the second. She didn't give him a chance, didn't let him in on her true feelings, but she still resented him like the Plague.

Danielle could have told Brandon the truth, he would have understood. There was nothing keeping her from doing so. And if she'd been afraid of what her female co-workers would say about her, she could always make some excuse to get away. She didn't have to pretend everything was fine with them. It was the wrong thing to do. Brandon would think she actually saw him as a person when the truth was, he was just trash to her. Riff-raff. Compared to all the rest, he was so much less. So _not_!

Nina set her glass of Christmas punch down on the nearest available surface and made her way over there. What was Danielle's game? Why did she have to be so cruel? Didn't she think Brandon even had feelings? What sort of a person _was_ she?

Reaching the pair, she refrained from making a scene, and said, instead, "Danielle, may I have a word, please?"

A frown slid onto Danielle's face, but she shot Brandon a quick Gotta go! glance and said, "Of course, Ms. Sharp."

Brandon didn't look worried, when he met Nina's gaze for a split second, but Nina knew Brandon didn't think she was scary. But he was wrong. She could be scary, very scary.

But she wouldn't be. Not tonight. She'd just needed to get Danielle away from Brandon, she'd just needed her to give it a rest with the lies, so she made up something to say to her assistant, asked her about something she knew was perfectly fine with an air of worry to her voice, and she let Danielle frown, then check something on her cell phone, she let Danielle placate her. "Yes, everything's in order, ma'am."

In the end, she didn't want to be the one to spoil anyone's evening, either. In the end, the truth was, she wasn't Brandon's mother, and he wasn't a child. He could look out for himself perfectly well.

Going back to her glass, only half-drunk, she picked it up and walked out, upending its contents in the nearest bathroom sink she could find. The punch didn't do much for her, and the party only depressed her. Later on, she'd go home, and the place would be empty, except for her, and she'd be the only one around, and she'd depress herself. But that was for later.

Right now, she looked into the mirror and thought that she looked old. Never mind Walter; he'd been through Hell in that mental institute, it was to be expected that he looked a little worse for wear, but she looked awful. She'd told Sam she was looking after herself now, but she'd lied. She might have been looking after her physical health, but she wasn't looking after her mental health, and the two naturally went hand-in-hand. She knew she hadn't been fooling Sam. He wasn't the type who believed in taking a pill and Oh look! _Voila_! everything was magically fine again. Never had been, she knew.

The only person she was fooling was herself, and that was more than sad. That fell under the bold, capitalised heading of "pathetic". She was pathetic, only she was too scared to admit it. To afraid to have to deal with _that_.

To have to face the fact that this was up to her, no-one else. That it was her burden to bear, or alleviate.

And she had plenty of facades to hide behind, as well. She had her designer clothes, her expensive house, her ritzy car, her glamorous title, even her job. She could lie to herself black and blue, but it all left marks, it all hurt, underneath. She could say she didn't feel the pain, but the truth was, she did. Every little thing was felt, whether she admitted it or not, and it always found a way to come out somehow.

She didn't like what she saw in the mirror, looking back at her, but she forced herself to look, to find something that wasn't all bad. She wasn't hideous, was she? She looked, really looked, but there was nothing she could see that made her feel any better. Nothing at all. She might as well have been hideous, she thought morosely, because she _felt_ it.

She was old and sad and now, now she decided to panic. She wanted something more _now_! When she'd known all along this was coming, she'd seen the path she'd laid out before her, and she hadn't bothered to take steps to the contrary, and now she was angry, now she was scared! Now!

She glared at herself in the mirror and hissed, "How dare you?"

Dreaming that she might be able to snap her fingers and make everything better was just a lie, and she had no right to even _dream_ such things! Other people, people who'd actually tried, who'd reached out and tried, they deserved the good things in life, not her! Who had she cared about but herself? Hadn't it always been the job?

Walter deserved to have Peter, but she – she was just despicable!

She deserved nothing but her own misery.

She stared down at the empty glass in her left hand and saw that it was broken, shattered, and smeared with blood. The pain stung, but that was all. It was glancing, nothing more. It hurt too much inside for her to really notice the pain of a little cut.

She would have it seen to, and then she would go home. To be alone, she supposed. To hate herself some more, probably.

What else?

.

Her hand had been cleaned up and bandaged and was now covered in a bright, white gauze. The stinging was still there, but it felt right. A cut hurt, that was what happened when you were idiot enough to hurt yourself. Pain. Pain flopping well happened. She actually didn't mind the physical pain. She even thought she deserved it. What hurt more was knowing that no-one had even bothered to ask if she was okay. Of course she was, but not really. She was, but that was just a standard line she told everyone; even herself, most days.

She wasn't really okay.

Walking up the path to her house, she felt tears stinging in the backs of her eyes. She'd have liked to cry; it would have been nice to get it out of her system, but what right did she have to mope about being alone and unloved and uncared for when she'd never once, not once, set a foot in the direction of doing anything about it?

She absolutely was entitled to her feelings, but she had no bloody right playing the Poor me, poor me card.

She'd gotten exactly what she'd set out to get, what she'd always planned to get. Sure, maybe she'd hit some setbacks in life, but she'd always forged on, she'd always made her goals, and, truthfully, she'd never contemplated anything remotely approaching "start a family", or "fall in love".

The risk had always seemed to high, she'd always shied back. She could sort her own stuff out, fine enough, but with someone else, with someone else, it wasn't that clean cut. Sometimes, there'd come times when nothing she'd be able to say would do much of anything, at least, not directly, and she hadn't been able to face that kind of horror, that kind of lack of control. She'd always stayed away from all that.

She'd seen well enough what it had done to Walter and Elizabeth, and she hadn't wanted any fingers in that pie.

She should have been happy. She'd got what she'd wanted. But she wasn't. Things had changed, with time. Things had changed, only she'd refused to believe it, at first, to accept it. She just hadn't wanted the complication. Now she felt like her whole life was suddenly obsolete. Like her whole being, the whole point of her being on this Earth, was ridiculous and trumped up and pointless. Like she hardly had a right. She'd done plenty of things in her life she could be proud of, things for other people, people she'd never, ever meet, but she didn't feel proud.

She felt alone.

And it hurt her.

It felt like dying. Worse than dying. It made her wish she'd never been born. She felt like such a bloody waste!

She knew it was wrong to think that way, but she just couldn't help it.

She knew she'd fold it up and tuck it away somewhere out of sight, come tomorrow, but it wouldn't have gone away. It would still be hanging around. And it would be waiting, waiting for her "more important" stuff to disappear, waiting to get her alone, and then it would wash over her. And it would drown her. And she would sometimes wish it could, wish it could really drown her, so the nightmare could finally come to an end.

But that wasn't the way it worked.

She'd let her life turn into this nightmare, and now she had to live it.

She had to live it out until it ended.

To at least respect something, if not herself, but Life.

.

The lights were on inside. They looked soft and warm and comforting. She could almost feel glad to be going home, except it wasn't really a home, it was just a house. The front garden wasn't brightly lit like the house, but that was how she liked it. Anything else would have struck her as garish. Here and there, there were little lights to show the way, but they weren't very bright things, just little things. They helped, nonetheless, and she found she didn't resent their intrusion in the night. They were only in the front-yard, anyway, not the side-yards or the backyard.

She would have stopped for a moment to glance up at the sky, hoping to see the smallest, weakest smattering of stars, but the night was heavily overcast and quite a breeze had blown up, battering trees about and making itself known to those on the roads.

Her hair kept brushing across her face and obscuring her view, but she hardly cared. She wasn't about to hurry inside and dial up the heaters. The chill reminded her that she could feel, and it helped a little with the nauseous feeling in her stomach. She was hungry, really very hungry, but she couldn't even think about food right now, about eating right now. She felt ill.

Her hand throbbed painfully, just to remind her of her clumsy little mishap earlier in the evening, and a sound behind her made her pause. She wasn't far from her front porch, but she didn't scuttle off ahead, get her key out and rip open the door and slam it closed behind her in terror.

Over the wind, it was hard to make out what sound exactly it had been that had disturbed her, but she eventually did pick it out. It was gravel, like the gravel underneath her feet. White, luminous on a clear evening.

She turned about, brushing hair out of her face once more, but it just drifted back into her eyes. Grabbing a handful of it, she finally resigned to holding it captive by the side of her head. Not so good if she planned on pulling any ninja moves, but at least she could see a little better now.

Barely frowning into the darkness ahead, she decided she wouldn't be needing any ninja moves, anyway. She already knew who it was, and they weren't a danger to her. At least, not physically anyway.

It was just Sam.

Apparently Sam knew where she lived now; not that it bothered her. These things could be learned. Maybe she'd even told him once, and simply forgotten. Given him her home number, in case he wanted to ring her up about anything. Agent Dunham, even. Possibly. She couldn't be certain at this late hour, with her hand stinging and her eyes complaining about the constant icy onslaught gusting through the semi-darkened yard.

She didn't say anything, but saw that Sam had stopped and was now holding something out to her. An envelope, she supposed.

"I realised I knew someone I could send a card after all," he said. "A little late for the Postal Service, but hey, I've got a car; I've got legs. Here, it's for you."

She frowned, reaching out to take the card. "Thank you, Sam. I didn't send you one, but... I could go inside and have a look around and see if I had any spare cards laying around, if you'd like."

"No. No. It's no big bother, Nina."

"A coffee, then? You came all this way and it's getting on..."

"No. I'm right."

She started to nod, then shook her head. "I'd like if you... I don't often have occasion to use my coffee machine, but I guess now would be the perfect excuse, and I'd _love_ for you to join me. Come inside, have a coffee. It's freezing out here."

"It's winter."

She laughed, tears welling in her eyes. Yes, it was. It was winter, alright. And she had to get out of this raging cold, it was too much, all of a sudden; her eyes were going all runny.

Sam sighed, at last, rolling his eyes (at himself, and some inner discussion he was having with himself), and said, "Oh, why not!"

.

They didn't really talk about much – maybe Sam was worried she'd try and get rid of him, like last time – but they had coffees and went into the lounge to see what was going on with the weather on the television.

Waiting for the late night news to come on, Nina wondered why she didn't just get Pay TV, then she'd be able to watch the News Channel or whatnot. Though, the reason was probably that she was hardly home, or hardly ever up to watching TV when she _was_ at home, so it would be a bit of a waste, in reality. She could do something else with her money... like buy a nice couch like the one she was sitting on right now, still waiting for the news. Or some fruit trees for her garden.

She always had liked the idea of fruit trees. And if she didn't use the fruit she was sure she could find somewhere to offload it; there'd always be someone to give it to. A homeless shelter or somewhere. Though, admittedly, it would be a while before the trees matured enough to have fruit, so she wouldn't be thrown into hot water straight away.

She sighed, beyond bored with the commercials that kept running, over and over. She glanced across at Sam, sitting beside her on the couch, and saw that he was frowning, probably paying attention to the ad, wondering what tactics the advertising companies were favouring these days and how effective they were, and how they worked. She could just imagine him working it all out in his mind, detailing it step by step. It made her want to smile. Seeing the look of concern on his face over something like a TV advert actually made her smiling. It was silly, but a little bit cute.

Of course, Sam knew all the tricks, but it was good to remind oneself.

She quickly wiped the smile off her face, worried that Sam might look away from the TV and see her smiling and... baulk, or something. She was sure, if she was in his shoes, she would freak her out, too.

She'd never really felt entirely comfortable smiling. Sure, she liked smiling; she liked feeling good enough to want to smile, but she wasn't totally sold on the whole issue of it looking good on her. She worried that it made her look a bit loopy, or too much like a predator, with that little gleam in her eyes and her narrow teeth. Like she might suddenly take a fancy to chowing down on someone's arm, or something.

She hadn't forgotten that she was hungry, so she'd found some apples in the fridge and cut them up. She'd almost finished all the pieces now, and was pleased when the news finally appeared, signalled in by the same annoyingly fast-paced tune the station always played.

Reaching for the remote control to turn up the volume, she very nearly leapt out of her seat when her hand touched someone else's. Sam quickly handed the remote to her, shrugging – he didn't know how to work the thing, anyway – and she pressed the button to turn the volume up, hoping he wouldn't notice how her hand was suddenly shaking.

The newscaster was giving a quick run-down of the night's top stories, which obviously wasn't all that interesting, because Sam glanced away from the television again and frowned at her.

Nina quickly put the remote down, frowning at her hand, too, when she realised that that was what had caught his interest. "Well, as you know, this one's real. I... had a silly accident with some glass. Glass, flesh, not really pals, I gotta say. It will heal, in time." She shook her head, smiling a little. "And no. No. It wasn't any snow globe. I know, I like breaking things. Snow globes, for instance, purely for scientific reasons, mind you, but it wasn't the snow globe this time. The snow globe is innocent." She stopped smiling. "It was that lousy punch. Ugh! It had no _punch_! I was... annoyed about something."

"You're feeling better now?"

"Oh, yes. Yes. Moderately." She moved her fingers about. "Everything works fine." She glanced back at the television.

"Nina?"

"I'm not annoyed anymore," she said, still watching the TV screen. "I've moved on." She glanced at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. "I still feel like finding a snow globe and breaking it, but other than that..." She put a hand up to cover her mouth when she smiled, telling him, "I'm serious."

"I see that," he commented, trying not to smile.

"What are you smiling about?"

"I'm not smiling," he replied innocently.

She shook her head. "Mmm-mm. Yes you are!"

"Nonsense." He kept a straight face for a while, but eventually he had to smile, and he rolled his eyes. "Mind control!"

"What? Sam, I do not have some preternatural mental powers. Even if I did, I'd be rubbish at mind control."

"Why would you be?"

"Take a wild guess at what I'm thinking about right now!" she challenged.

"Do I dare?" he asked uncertainly.

"Hell yes, you dare!"

He laughed softly. "Catfish!" Probably not. He shook his head, smiling. "I don't know!"

"It starts with 'black forest' and ends with 'cake'," she replied darkly.

"I like cake," he said.

"Ppp!" She laughed. "_You_ like cake! Hardly!"

"I do."

"You might, but my waist doesn't."

"How much cake are you planning on eating, Nina?" he asked sceptically.

"Excuse me?"

"One piece of cake is hardly going to do much to your waistline. Dark forest or not."

"_Black_ forest."

He smiled.

Nina made a face. What was he just staring at her for? What, he thought he was going to beam over some kind of Love the cake, don't hate it vibes or something. Yeah, right! She stared back at him determinately. It wasn't going to work.

Eventually, it was the television that distracted her, pulling her gaze away from his to the screen. The weather segment was finally up. She frowned at the screen and leant forward in her seat, peering at the screen intently.

When the weather was over, she glanced around at Sam and sighed. "You hear that: more snow!"

"I did, actually. Hear it."

She reached over and grabbed the TV remote quickly.

"What?" he asked. "What did you think I was going to do, hijack your television set or something, Nina?"

"I have no idea!" she replied, with serious eyes.

He shook his head, watching whilst she got up and switched the TV off, then left the remote control on the coffee table.

"It's late. You should be heading home."

"Throwing me out already?"

"Absolutely!"

"You didn't want to talk about this 'I was annoyed about something' thing?"

"No."

"What if I said I did?" he asked.

She pointed to the lounge room door leading to the hallway.

"To the point."

"That's right."

"So, you're waiting for a late night visitor, that's why-"

"You're delusional, Sam. I don't have a late night visitor, even if I'd wanted one."

"You have me," he pointed out. And a moment later, "Who's to say there aren't more?"

She laughed. "In whose dreams, Sam?"

He sighed. "It's depressing, huh? Being on your own."

"Did I say that?"

"Nope. Didn't have to, Nina."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Sam."

He stood up and stepped around the coffee table, walking over and picking up her hand.

She rolled her eyes, refusing to be taken in by his antics. Yeah, cute.

"I'm not your enemy, Nina," he told her earnestly, looking into her eyes. "You can _talk_ to me."

She shook her head, pulling her hand out of his and pointing to the door once more. "Good night, Sam! Drive carefully."

He didn't budge. "What's going on? Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me? You're not thinking of doing anything foolish, are you?"

"What are you talking about?"

He picked up her bandaged hand, turning it over gently. "What am I talking about, Nina?" he asked seriously, his eyes suddenly harder than before, the playfulness in them completely gone. "This wasn't practice, was it? For 'the big show'? Because if that is the case, then I'm not going anywhere. You can call the cops on me, but I... I'm not going, until then. Whatever you think you have to do, you don't. I'm here – _I__'__m_ your friend! Stick around, okay."

She shook her head. "Sam, you're being paranoid again. I'm not going to kill myself. And... Argh! How you could even think something like that- I pity you, I really do! The horrible shit you must have seen! But I'm not that kind of person, Sam."

He let go of her hand. "You pity me?"

"Not... Look, I don't mean it like that. In... I don't mean it in a bad way, Sam, I mean it in a... it's-sad way. Like... like I'd prefer you hadn't seen all that horrible crap, and I'd prefer you didn't jump to macabre conclusions at the first sign of... bodily harm. It's stupid, okay. Forget I said it. But trust me, I'm not the suicidal type. Even if I was fed up with the world and... all that, I wouldn't kill myself. It's a waste. And I happen to think it's disrespectful, but that's not the point! I wouldn't do it, Sam."

She took hold of his hand with her right hand, the robotic one, and caught his eye. "Sam, you don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine. I'll live another day. I just... I want you to go home before the storm gets any worse. I don't like the idea of driving in this weather, as it is, but if it gets any worse it's going to be downright, positively terrifying."

He looked away from her, to the lounge room windows and the storm raging outside.

"I apologise for saying you were paranoid, but-"

"But! No, no buts, Nina. You apologise, but you're still thinking it."

She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe I am."

"What was it you called me earlier. Delusional."

"I was joking, Sam!"

He laughed falsely. "Ha-ha. And I'm laughing. Yeah, very funny."

She made a face. She just couldn't understand him right now. "Why are you-?" She meant to finish the sentence, but her impulses got the better of her and she stepped closer abruptly and kissed him. It most definitely wasn't one of her better ideas, but she wasn't sorry for having done it, either.

At least she wasn't sorry until he took her upper arms in his hands and forcibly held her away from him. Then she just felt humiliated, and stupid. God! How could she honestly have thought, or even hoped, he might feel something for her like she felt for him. He wasn't the delusional one, that was her. She was fully delusional! Blinking off the planet. How much older than him was she? A decade, two decades? She was out of line.

Didn't mean she didn't want to kiss him again, but she also felt deeply disgusted with herself, even as her hands were itching to pull him nearer and make nice. Well, one of them. The other one wasn't really there anymore, it just liked to think it was... or she liked to think it was. The new one didn't feel, technically speaking. She still wanted to do it, but she got that that was wrong. Very wrong.

She looked down at her feet.

"Nina, what was that about?"

She didn't say anything. What could she say? I'm a cougar, watch out! That was the term they were all using these days for older women who went after younger men, as though lust was suddenly a big crime. Not that it wasn't the same story for older men, but the whole idea annoyed her. The whole thing of putting an age limit on... on freaking sexual feelings, even! Everyone had to know it was ridiculous. Just because you go older didn't mean you weren't still human, didn't mean you suddenly stopped being "in the mood". And yes, a lot of the older ones went for the younger ones, but some of the younger ones liked the older ones, too. It was some psychological thing. Sex wasn't. Not just. It was biological, too.

But, again, she couldn't say any of that to Sam. He'd faint, or something. Call the cops on her. If she said, "Hey, how's about it, Sam? You wanna be my booty call?" he'd call the cops, alright. And if she said anything else, like maybe she wanted him for something more than just her boy toy, he probably wouldn't be any more pleased with that... because he didn't feel the same way she did and he didn't want to miss the beat when the right one finally came along. She could understand that, but, apparently, convincing her body was another matter.

It couldn't give a damn about poor Sam, like he was some piece of meat in the deli and not a human being. Luckily, she hadn't quite lost her mind yet.

Not looking up from the floor, she shrugged out of Sam's hold and walked out of the room, dropping, in a plain tone, a few parting words, "Goodbye, Sam."

She hoped he would go, but if he didn't, she was staying put in her room until he fell asleep and she could sneak out and get the blazes away from him. She didn't like how she was around him. Actually, she _did_ like it, but that was _exactly_ the point.

Shutting the door after her, she walked to her bed and sat down on the edge, closing her eyes for a moment to listen to the storm. It was quite loud now, louder than when she'd first got in from work, and she thought maybe she wouldn't mind. It would be something to distract her from the thoughts whizzing around in her mind.

Without her noticing it, her left hand had already gone up to her lips, remembering the way it had felt kissing Sam, and when she finally noticed, she yanked her hand down to her side and planted it firmly on the mattress beside her, not even caring if it hurt or not. Why was she behaving like this to Sam? He'd never been anything but good to her? Why did she suddenly have to go and make his life Hell, just because she felt like hers was!

For goodness sakes, she was acting like some hormone-crazed teenager!

A knock on the door made her jump, but she just said, "I don't want to talk about it," end of non-discussion, and closed her eyes, feeling tears prickling uncomfortably in them. She slowly relaxed her breathing and started to feel a bit better. In a couple of days, Christmas would be over, then she'd be able to go back to work, and back to her workaholic habits.

She started to open her eyes and sucked in a quick breath, almost cringing. Her eyes darted to the door. She hadn't heard the door open, but there it was, open. And she hadn't heard him cross the room or stop at the end of her bed, either, but there he was, just watching her. She had the urge to mutter, You little creep! but she didn't really mean it in a horrible way, just in a mystified way. Maybe one of them really did have ninja skills, but it wasn't her.

It was more than likely Sam.

"I don't want to talk about it," she repeated, just in case he hadn't heard her the first time, through the door and the storm outside, making a right old racket. It was a distinct possibility.

Sam frowned, thinking about that idea. She was just about to point a finger at him and warn him not to come out with any smart mouth or she _would_ have to call the cops on him, when he moved closer and sat down next to her on the end of the bed. "We don't have to talk," he said, after a moment, placing a hand over hers. Over her _real_ hand.

She wanted to smack him over the back of the head for that, or call him "idiot boy". He really had to play into her insanity, didn't he? For heck sake, she didn't honestly have mind powers! She wanted to do all that, but she didn't want to argue with him, too. She didn't want to give him any reason to leave. She felt better when his hand was resting on hers. She felt real again, like she hadn't felt in a long time.

His hand was warm. It made her happy, silly as it was to say.

"I'm sorry," he said, abruptly breaking the silence. "I know I said we didn't have to talk, but I do have to ask you something."

She looked at the wall in front of her, not at him, waiting for him to go on. She wasn't going to make any more trouble tonight. She really couldn't afford to. She didn't want to alienate herself from Sam. She would have liked for them to be friends. She needed to start making friends, not just enemies, not just people who viewed her with quiet, unspoken suspicion.

She needed something to live for.

Even if that something was _just_ a friend. A friend, a real friend, was more than enough.

"Nina, what's going on? I thought we were friends."

She bit back a sarcastic laugh. "What do you think's going on, Sam? I'm getting old, I'm starting to lose it. I'm frightened of being alone my whole life. You should really go, before I do something we'll both regret. Because I have the feeling I could do it. I _could_ do it."

Sam sighed. "I see."

"Oh, shut up!"

"Wow!"

"Yeah, wow!" she almost yelled, raising her voice and turning to glare at him. "And you don't know the half of it! Now get out! I want you to go!"

Sam took his hand off hers, but lifted it up to her face and swiped a thumb across the side of her jaw as though she might have had something stuck there, a crumb or a sauce stain.

She knew that wasn't the reason. He'd just wanted to touch her, to see if he was averse to the idea. She couldn't understand Sam. He wasn't seriously going to agree to this madness because it was what she wanted, and he didn't have anything better to do, anyway? He didn't have any better offers? Because he could have a million better offers, she was sure, if he just asked. She didn't get what was happening in his head, but maybe he didn't, either.

"Nina...?" He touched her cheek with his fingertips, sending a shiver scuttling across her skin.

"No, Sam. Just, no. It would be a complete and utter disaster to even get started with this idea, trust me. I'd just mess you up, I can see it already. Please, Sam, I'm asking you to leave."

"I'm intrigued now, I don't want to leave. Maybe I... feel something for you, too."

If anyone else had said that to her, she was sure she would have been insulted, maybe even insulted enough to slap them, but then, if it had been anyone else, she probably wouldn't have been pawing all over them like a slobbering dog fancying after a juicy, meaty bone. She was hardly going to chew Sam out after the way she'd acted. It would be superficially hypocritical. And who was she to judge Sam and say he should have known when he felt something for someone enough that he might have wanted to start something with them? That was Sam's business, wasn't it? Not hers.

What was her business was that she'd kick-started this whole crazy business and even encouraged it, and now she had to deal with the consequences, and she had to decide soon what she wanted to do, because Sam needed to know what was going on and how it was, or wasn't, going to be. She didn't just get to mess with people and then walk away as though nothing had happened.

As much as Peter loved Walter, he hadn't just been able to let go of the fact that Walter had stolen him away from his parents and his "world". That was part of the reason he'd gone to the other side, gone "back home", she was sure. His parents on the other side missed him, too, not just Walter, and they hadn't lied to him, even if it had been for a perfectly good, perfectly solid reason. And just because he'd gone off to the other side didn't mean Walter wasn't still his dad. What it had meant was: your actions have consequences, and you're not the only one who's human. We all are. Don't forget it, because nobody can take that away from me, no matter who they are or what methods they use, I'll always still be human and I'll always "matter". You can't just mess me around; you have to know that. I am not a toy.

Right now, Nina felt as though she'd done the wrong thing by Sam, that she'd been thinking too much of herself and let herself get carried away, and now Sam had let himself get caught up in her craziness, too, because he didn't want to hurt her. It was completely nuts and it was up to her to say so, to put a stop to it.

One day, the one who was right for him would come along, but if she was there, standing in the way, Sam would never see her and she'd slip away, just fade back into the background again, and she'd have messed up three people's lives.

She couldn't do this. She just had to say, 'I'm sorry, it's my fault. Please let this go.' There was no other option.

"Sam, no." She put a hand over his, lowering it from her face. "You have to leave. As much as I'd love for you to stay, that isn't fair on you. You must see that. Sam, please. I've been an idiot, but I don't want you to do this. I don't want you to throw away your opportunities for me. I'm not the right one for you, but she's out there somewhere, and you have to wait. You just have to wait, sweetheart, and I promise it'll be worth it."

"No. No, I don't have to wait. Maybe I've waited too long..."

"Sam, come on, don't be like this. I'm sorry."

"I'm not being like anything, Nina. I honestly don't get why we can't give this a go. If it doesn't get off the ground, we can always give it away and, hopefully, still come out the other end of it friends. Can't we?"

She sighed heavily, holding his hand in hers.

"Nina, I'm not a child. Look at me." He caught her gaze, making sure she really was looking at him. "I'm not a child. You're not... using me, or abusing me. I think we could maybe have fun. At least, for a while. Are you going to say 'no' to that, or do you think you could say, 'Yeah, let's give it a go.' Why not, hmm?"

"Because-" she fell short. She knew there was a reason, there were plenty of very good reasons, she just couldn't think of them when Sam was looking at her like that, with those beautiful, hypnotic, soulful eyes.

She could tell she was slipping again, because she'd never used to think half of the things she did now. She'd thought Sam was an okay guy, but she'd never felt so content just looking into his eyes. She'd never wanted to kiss him before, or hold him, or have him hold her hand.

She couldn't even muster a sigh, she just slumped her shoulders, a tear running down her face. She didn't ask it to, it just did its own thing. Maybe it had an agenda in all this, but, clearly, it wasn't on her side. It was trying to sucker Sam in any way it could. Look, she's crying. She's really crying! Comfort her, Sam.

She laughed, half-sobbing, and a couple more tears poured out onto her cheeks.

Sam frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Can you just hold me?" she asked, in a whisper, and Sam put his arms around her, just holding her, just like she'd said, and she felt safe, just like she knew she would. She'd always felt safe with Sam, even when she'd thought he was a bit of a smartarse, even when she'd seriously considered giving him a piece of her mind. None of that had stopped her from feeling safe with him, as though it would be okay, even if she said these things to him. She'd always still felt safe, just like she did now.

And that was another crazy fact of Nina's life. She may or may not have been in love with Sam, the guy from the bowling alley, the guy she most definitely should not have been in love with, under any circumstances. Heck, she wasn't even sure he was human, not that it really mattered. But it probably should have. She'd tried to tell him how he'd be better off with someone else – maybe someone of his own species – but he just hadn't listened. He was stubborn. She'd always kind of known that. But she'd also known he could take a lot. She hadn't seriously expected him to do something like this.

So maybe she was in love with him, but it wasn't right, either way; it wasn't right that she got to have him. She didn't deserve him. He deserved so much better. Someone who didn't work for some shady, multi-billion dollar company; someone who didn't ply dead bodies for information; who didn't mess with people's heads and play at being their friend when, in reality, just the opposite was true.

He deserved someone with more than half an honest bone in their body.

And that wasn't her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Let's just say Olivia's home now, okay, though I don't know what happens after the season two finale as I haven't gotten to see any of S3 yet. For the sake of this story, however, we'll go with that she got home to her "universe" somehow. 'Kay? *smiles***

**I hope you like this chapter, readers.**

* * *

><p>The bowling alley was quiet today, just the one customer peacefully keeping to himself. A young man. It wasn't hard to slip around the corner, then step closer for a little kiss. Her left hand slid around to his back, then dipped under the hem of his shirt, seeking the feel of warm flesh, and when she touched it, when the warmth and solidness of the contact washed over her, she felt better, safer. The kiss just made it that much better.<p>

She started to melt against him, and then she was taking steps, backward, until there were no more steps to take and she met the solid barrier of a wall, and her heart beat faster. Their bodies pressed together, their body heat melding together, it was hard to tell where she began and he ended, hard to tell whose heartbeat was whose, but that was okay. It was okay, and she loved them exactly like this. Holding onto one another, sharing a gentle then searing kiss, his fingers intertwining with the straight, coarse red hair flowing between her shoulder blades, his mouth moving suddenly from her buzzing, glowing lips to her neck.

Her head dropped back and she moaned softly, pleasure making her warm and giddy all over. Her hand found the small of his back and she settled it there, contently.

The sound of something buzzing cut through the haze, at last, and she opened her eyes properly, tilting her head forward again and suddenly remembering where they were. It was her phone. She grabbed it, an apologetic glaze in her eyes, and answered, "Nina Sharp for Massive Dynamic."

Sam frowned, stepping away from her, instinctively giving her her space, and she grabbed hold of his hand in her free hand, giving it a gentle squeeze to let him know she hadn't forgotten about him.

"Brandon." She smiled, her eyes not quite focussed on what she was seeing, but imagining what Brandon's face must have looked like instead. He sounded happy, relaxed. "Yes. I'm visiting a friend."

Apparently, he was using a new phone. It was a Christmas gift from a mate. One of those smart phones. He was well rapt. She couldn't help but feel happy for him. Little gadgets and things always seemed to make him so happy, anything with buttons he could press and take a mental note of what happened next. She was glad to hear he had friends, but wondered if he was being entirely honest with her. She wasn't so sure she believed the story about a friend buying him such an expensive phone, so maybe there were no friends and he was just telling her this to cheer her up, so he wouldn't have to say he'd bought the phone himself and make himself sound like such a dejected loser in his home life, away from the company.

It wasn't that she wanted to believe he had no friends, she honestly, actually did. She did want him to have friends, but the fact was, he wasn't a big hit at work and she wondered if, perhaps, the same could be said of him elsewhere.

She let him talk, the sound of his voice comforting her – there'd been far too much trouble with her employees lately, it was good to know one of them wasn't about to end up as splatter on a pavement somewhere. He said thanks for the card and the snow globe – he didn't actually have any other snow globes – and went on to tell her about the date he was going on in a few days, in the new year.

She smiled a bit more and asked, a little humorously, "It wouldn't happen to be with anyone I am acquainted with, would it?" The answer that came next, she didn't expect, and it wiped the smile clean off her face.

Actually, yes, he told her. It was with Danielle.

Danielle, who'd been so quietly, not quite invisibly furious with him at the Christmas party for wasting her time and jerking her around with his stupid, little uncool prattle when she might have been chatting to anyone else, anyone else at all.

When she'd finished the call with Brandon, she put her phone away and bit back the urge to sigh. She had a bad feeling that Danielle and some of the other office girls had gotten together and come up with a plan to humiliate poor old Brandon. Danielle was good at her job, but she definitely had that mean girl air about her.

She shook it off and returned her gaze to Sam's. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

She loved him for saying that, but she was. She could have very happily gone without hearing about how Danielle was all set to mess up Brandon's new year. Very happily.

She stepped closer to Sam and put her arms around him and held him. "You're a darling." She meant to say, "I love you," but that would never go down prettily, so she refrained. She didn't think she could stand to see Sam walk out on her just now, and she really didn't want to hurt him either.

.

Rachel laughed, practising a Zumba move with Ella over the television. The Zumba stuff had been a gift from Liv to her, and she was really happy it was something she could share with the both of them.

At the moment, Olivia was hiding out in the kitchen, sipping a glass of red wine, but Rachel was okay with giving her some space to herself. She didn't want to push too hard because she wasn't so sure Livvy would be able to stand such an onslaught just now.

Ella laughed along with her, her face bright with warmth and a touch of pink from the exertion, exuberance shining from out of her eyes, and Rachel wondered if it would be out of line for her to call Peter and quietly suggest he drop 'round. That'd probably cheer Olivia up to no end and it might even get a small smile out of Peter, too.

As the minutes passed, she liked the idea more and more.

.

Olivia hadn't yet worn her new cardigan, the one Nina had sent her for Christmas, and, to be honest, she didn't even know that it would fit, but she was thinking about it, thinking about taking a walk alone in the snow, nothing but her and the cold to keep her company, rather badly even so. She was thinking about going for a walk and sipping her wine, not thinking about how it might be too early in the morning still for alcoholic beverages.

She was still thinking about that walk a good half an hour later when the door buzzer rang, and she deposited of her glass down on the counter top quickly and stood up. "I'll get it!"

She walked to the door, roughly pushing aside the inescapable urge to pull out her weapon and aim it on whoever it was who was at her door, friend or foe, and unlocked the door, pulling it open to see the person standing outside her door.

Peter.

She almost let herself relax a little. It was just Peter. Almost let herself, but not quite.

"Come in," she told him. "You must be freezing out there. How's the weather holding up?"

"Bleakly," Peter returned, stepping inside and giving her time to close the door. "Very, very bleakly. It's so grey and _dull_ out there it looks like someone took a blender to the sky after tossing in a whole heap of cement. Something that's not gonna feel altogether pleasant when it decides to start making its return journey back down to earth. There was a severe storm warning over the radio on the way over here." He didn't bother feigning surprise, not even for the sake of sarcastic humour. Instead, his voice took on a low grumble: "Another one!" He sighed, shaking his head. "But forget about that, if you can, for a couple of seconds. How are you?" He caught her eye.

"I'm holding up," she said, deciding anything had to be better than "I'm good", which would have been a complete lie. A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she thought about how she'd hate having to lie to Peter. "How are you?"

He didn't smile back but his eyes got a little watery. "Holding up."

Olivia resisted the urge to do anything crazy, like kiss him right then and there. Or utterly ravage him. She had had quite a bit of wine already, and she was feeling alone and down. In other words, she wasn't properly herself yet. She was partly functioning on some other level. "How's Walter?"

"Good. I think. Rachel and Ella?"

"Yeah, good. Getting Zumba fit, right now, but good."

As if to prove her point, a flutter of laughter floated into the hallway from one of the other rooms, and Peter finally managed a smile, though it couldn't help coming across as a little tight.

Olivia's stomach was churning, her hands itching to grab a hold of the front of his clothes and pull him nearer. But that was just the alcohol talking, the utter desolation she felt inside talking, and she wasn't really going to give into it, was she? She wasn't really alone. She had Rachel and Ella, and now here was Peter, too.

Yes, Peter.

Her friend.

The man she'd fallen hopelessly, helplessly in love with.

Not that it showed, at all. They might have been just two people, sharing a sidewalk on some street together. They might have been two people who didn't even know each other, let alone each other's names.

Her eyes got that familiar prickling feeling, telling her they weren't far off melting down into full-on weepy mode. She held back from taking a big gulp of air or swallowing, or brushing at her eyes. She didn't want Peter knowing how upset she was, underneath.

Peter took an awkward step closer, raising a hand as though to touch her arm, but then deciding not to, in the end. "You sure you're okay?"

She flashed him a confident smile. "Yeah!"

He tried for a little smile, in return, but for all that effort, it was just as forced as before.

Olivia had a feeling he'd figured onto her from the get go, and it felt very much like dread, dark and swirling, waiting to pour down on her head and thoroughly drown her.

When she caught up to her tumbling, rushing thoughts again, she'd suddenly moved a whole lot closer to Peter, so much so that she could feel the warmth radiating off him from underneath his many layers of cosy-looking clothing, and she was suddenly frost bitten.

At least, that was how it felt inside.

Peter didn't step away from her, but he seemed to be looking at something nearby that wasn't quite her face, as though he knew this was one of those awkward moments that sometimes happened when they were together and didn't want to make it worse, make _her_ feel worse.

But she didn't feel awkward. She wasn't embarrassed. And she'd have told him that, if she had been able to summon the words; if she'd been able to do anything other than put a hand up to turn his face her way, so he'd finally meet her eyes, and press her lips to his. They were cold like ice, but underneath, they were warm, like she'd known they would be.

The sound of laughter from the other room barely even registered in her mind then.

.

They were somewhere else, in another room. It felt cold. Cold and hard, so maybe the bathroom. The sound of laughter was quieter now, dulled. Olivia barely noticed, or cared. They were together, what else could matter more?

The cold bit into her skin, and she realised it was probably from an open window, she realised she must have shed a fair bit of her clothing. She didn't care, though, because it was okay. She felt okay. For the first time since she'd opened her eyes this morning, she didn't feel like crying, or drowning. She felt... okay.

Peter made her feel okay.

He was kissing her now, her shoulder, and she could have really giggled. He was being so gentle, it didn't really fit with the image of him most people construed in their minds, and certainly not the image she'd drawn up the first time she'd met him.

It fit more easily with the image of him standing in her hallway, all rugged up and bundled in warm clothes because it was cold outside, and a little bit inside, too, and he could have done with a hug, but he wasn't brave enough to ask, not quite brave enough to say, "I don't think I'm okay", after the havoc and destruction that had so recently fallen after him like leaves in fall.

Underneath, he wasn't some scary monster: he was Peter. He was her Peter.

And to her, he was beautiful. He glowed.

.

She thought she might be able to hold back, for Peter, but the point came where she could no longer keep her hand from straying to his hair and taking a painful grip on a handful of it, where she could no longer take any more gentleness and she just needed this thing. She just needed this thing to happen between them or she'd die!

Her hand in his hair, gripping it tightly, she hissed in his ear, "Peter, do something! Before I shoot you!" She knew full well she wasn't about to shoot him – she couldn't even find her gun anymore, in all the clutter of clothes littering the bathroom floor in messy confusion – but she couldn't wait any longer. It was killing her from the inside out.

Peter didn't ague with her, and she didn't argue with him, even when silent tears poured down his face and his eyes were so wet he probably couldn't see much beyond a great, big blur. She closed her eyes and pretended she'd never seen his tears, pretended she didn't know exactly what they meant.

Pretended he didn't love her, he wouldn't love her to the end of the world and back, and she wouldn't love him back, just the same.

They were just two people. Two people who didn't even know each other, who didn't know these things about each other, and might just have met today, an hour, or even ten minutes ago, out on some cold and lonely street, out for a walk alone.

It was easier that way. Easier to just let go, to just let go and let the feelings pour through her body, down through her spine, slowly dissolve in her blood. It would have been nice to think they were on the same planet together, their first time, but that wasn't the case.

If pressed, she probably wouldn't even have been able to recall Peter's name. She was in some whole other place completely. A place where words were irrelevant, where the currency up for exchange was feeling, not money, not some superior's orders.

What Peter did, he did well. She had to give him that. She mightn't have been with him, but where she was, it was pleasant. More than pleasant, even. She could have stayed there forever, on a day like this. Where he sent her, nobody's heart broke. Where he sent her, those love songs that always made her sad lost their meaning, paled in comparison and just faded away into the twilight. She felt alive, and she didn't hate herself for it.

She didn't hate it.

Her breathing was erratic, puffy, but it didn't feel like she was losing control, careening toward disaster, it felt like it was right. When she came undone, she knew she'd be wishing for nothing more than that. All of her broken pieces, her splintered shards, would be laid bare along with the rest of her, threads on the stark, cold, hard floor, each indecipherable from the next, coming together in her vision to form a coherent whole. In this place, this shattered, broken, spectacular place, she wasn't a broken girl, she was a beautiful girl, a happy girl, a girl who, with a flick of her lashes, could smile and summon thousand giggles, thousand joy-filled memories, each as precious as a snow flake melting upon the wind.

When she finally came crashing back to earth and smashed all to pieces, a breathy smile wound its way onto her dry, aching lips, her chest heaving like the tide lapping at the shore, swish-swash, back and forth. She felt complete. She was whole. She was content.

Peter rested his head on her shoulder, holding her tightly, his face pressed into her neck, and she smiled. She smiled and it didn't even matter how bleak it was outside.

Soon, uncomfortableness would slip back into being, would slip through the cracks in her veneer and re-emerge in her consciousness, clear and loud, raising its voice up high. But it wouldn't sting so bad, it'd still be dull. It wouldn't arrive in all its glory, in glowing golden coach complete with surly, scowl-faced footmen and steely steed, until later, much later. When evening drew its wispy curtains down and collected up the last shards of sunlight from the world for another night, capturing it in the moon on high and holding it captive, gloomily, for another dark night. The stars would complain, would encourage the sunbeams to break free of their gilded, silver cage, but the sunlight would remain there, would submit to muting, and it would become moonlight. It would live, if gloomily.

And that was when the uncomfortableness and aloneness would creep up on Olivia, stinging her eyes painfully, constricting her heart, burning on her cheeks.

She pushed out a hand, finding she could command things like that, now. The drug was wearing off. She slid her hand over Peter's arm, letting it rest on his shoulder. He was shivering. She inched closer, wrapping her arms about him tightly. "It's okay, Peter," she heard herself rasp, and it was such a strange feeling, such an unexpected, foreign sensation knowing she'd always known his name, all along. Knowing she'd so easily plucked it from her memory. "You were perfect."

"I love you, Olivia," he whispered.

She swallowed a vicious bark of a laugh, swallowed the pain in her chest that could have flowered the cherry and blood red of a gunshot chaser. She wished Peter hadn't said that. She wished he'd never told her that. After all, she already knew he loved her, so it had hardly needed saying. And now it was out there, for anyone to take and do with it what they wanted, and break it, crush it, hurt it.

She wished he hadn't said that.

He started to cry again, his tears hot against her skin, sliding down her neck, down her back. She should probably have been thinking about pulling something on, about getting dressed. She wasn't alone in the apartment; Rachel and Ella were here, too.

And Peter. Her sad, funny Peter.

She wished he'd had something funny to say right now. It would have meant the sun and the moon to her. It would have brought the sunshine back into her world.

Her old Peter wouldn't have been this gloomy, wouldn't have cried like this. Her old Peter had smiled more than her new Peter, and though she loved them equally, she hated how the slightest breath from her could break his heart, the slightest twinkle of her eye that meant she was still alive.

She had never meant to, but she'd really broken this boy. She'd never intended to be a destroyer of things, the role had just fallen over her, clinging to her so perfectly, she could no longer tell it apart from her own skin, a secret, invisible cloak. A magical, destructive cloak called love.

She'd never meant to fall in love with Peter, it had just happened. She supposed it was the same thing with him. He'd never intended to love her, either.

She could still remember the way he'd smiled at her that very first time they'd met; the way she'd got so in uproar at him calling her 'sweetheart', and then she'd gone and challenged him to do it again. She hadn't immediately thought him handsome, it had been something more along the lines of roguish. She hadn't fallen in love with his smile that first day; he'd always had such sad smiles. Underneath, he'd felt so disconnected from the world, from it all. The hustle and bustle, the endless foot-traffic called living. And she'd seen it, inside his eyes.

She hadn't meant to devise a remedy for it, she hadn't meant to take his heart, pick up the pieces, and hold them together again for him, and she hadn't meant to let it fall, and break on the ground. About a thousand times.

As her lips stung, crying out for something to drink, water, she wished she had the words to apologise. He wasn't really a bad boy, he was just a boy, and she really did like him. She really did love him. And she would probably be his girl from now until the end of forever, she just couldn't help herself.

He held her heart so softly, so perfectly to his own, she could never close her eyes and walk away from him. She'd surely die.

After a while, she took her arms from around him and began the process of disentangling her clothes from the rest of the mass of clothing-like items on the floor, of sorting one piece from another and dragging her exterior skin back on. She had to have something to protect her, something to act as a battle shield. For life, that was Peter; for the rest of the world, she had things, objects.

Stealing a glance at Peter, she said quietly, "I love you, too," and then she had to look away. He was too, too yummy, and she had to admit, she was addicted. If she didn't drag her eyes away now, anything could happen.

She didn't want to kill the poor boy.

.

They were sitting in the kitchen, Olivia, sipping a hot coffee, Peter, just warming his hands on his mug but not touching the stuff, otherwise. He looked morose, like a gust of wind could have started him crying.

He took one hand from the mug he was holding and touched her hand. He didn't mean to be this down.

"I love that frowney face," she said gruffly, grinning, and his eyes jumped to hers, all seriousness and gloominess. "It says, 'I may be a genius, true, true, but, loathe as I am to admit, I'm not invulnerable. Dunham, get your butt over here! Please.'" She set her mug of coffee down and crossed the short distance between them. "I'm here, you. I got you. I think you're gonna be fine." She hugged him silently, smiling. He was warm and hugging him felt good.

She definitely knew his name! As if she could ever forget.

.

The sound of the refrigerator door being pulled open brought her back to her senses and she opened her eyes, noticing Rachel standing at the fridge. She took out a plate of cut sandwiches and turned to the counter, placing the plate down quietly and shutting the fridge door. "I made sandwiches," she said.

Olivia grinned, stepping apart from Peter. "Thanks, Rach. I'm starving."

Rachel smiled back at her and shifted her gaze to Peter's. "Hey, Peter!"

"Hello, Rachel," he returned in subdued tones.

Ella bounded into the kitchen before Rachel could say any more, her hand leaping to the plate of sandwiches. "Peter!"

"Ella."

She took a bite out of one of the pieces of sandwiches and frowned. "Are you sick?"

"No."

"You sound sad."

He laughed, sounding no less sad.

"Is your dad okay?" Ella ventured.

"Yeah. Walter's fine."

"Is Gene okay?"

Peter nodded.

"We have Zumba. You wanna see? It's fun."

He tried a smile. "Okay."

Ella grabbed another sandwich from the plate and nodded, leading the way into the other room.

"Is Peter okay?" Rachel asked, once the pair had left the room. She was frowning.

"Yeah, of course," Olivia replied.

Rachel nudged the plate in her direction. "Are you sure?"

Olivia lifted a hand and pressed the backs of her fingers to her nose. "We did something."

Rachel's face fell seriously. "Oh, Livvy, I can't imagine the things you must see, doing what you do!"

Olivia felt a blush prickle her face and shook her head a little. "Not that kind of something, Rach."

Rachel frowned, not following.

"The... other kind of something," Olivia said.

Rachel's frown slipped a tad and she inched closer to Olivia, starting to smile though she still didn't get it. "What 'other kind of something', Liv?"

Olivia put a hand over her mouth. "I can't believe this is so hard."

Rachel's eyes widened suddenly and her hand shot to Olivia's arm. "Oh, my God! _That_ something!"

"Yeah," Olivia agreed lamely.

Rachel bit her lip, looking so happy for her older sister she was practically on the verge of tears.

Olivia smiled at her strangely. Yeah, slightly uncomfortable, eh.

"That's great, Livvy!"

Olivia stopped smiling suddenly, a serious frown marring her features. "I'm not so sure. Peter cried a lot. I mean, sure, Walter, I _know_ he can give the old water works a decent run for its money, but I didn't think that was Peter's thing, you know. I don't know what it means!"

Rachel gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "I can tell you one thing, I definitely don't think it means he's got some other woman."

"I would be so relieved!" Olivia laughed, with dark humour.

"Do you think you should maybe..." Rachel winced, "tell his dad?"

Olivia frowned. "I don't know, Rach."

Rachel was eternally thankful she hadn't taken offence at the suggestion. Even to her own ears, it had sounded... awkward. Still, she couldn't help thinking Peter's dad might know something they didn't, might have been able to shed some light on the situation. She already knew Peter hadn't had a whole lot of friends in his younger years; he'd been too sick to leave the house, most of the time. But then he'd gotten better. He'd been able to go out, go to school, make friends. And then his mother had committed suicide.

Rachel almost couldn't care less how much she embarrassed herself. She didn't want Peter ending up like his mother. He was her friend and Livvy loved him, even if she had a hard time saying so. "Livvy, you should talk to Walter if Peter won't open up to you. I just... don't want you to lose him."

Olivia's frown deepened.

"His mother _killed_ herself!" Rachel whispered loudly, leaning closer with wide, urgent, saddened eyes.

"Peter would never do that," Olivia denied.

"I hope not," Rachel simply replied.

.

"Walter?"

"Hmm? Oh, Agent Dunham!"

"Walter," she repeated, with a small smile. She offered him the bag of expensive chocolates she was holding.

"Is that for me, Olivia?" he asked, with sad, hopeful eyes.

"Yes," she said, whisper-voiced, and grinned. "For you, Walter."

He tentatively took the sweets from her.

She ran a hand over her hair, guessing that he'd probably figured something was up. It was usually Peter or Astrid bringing him food, not her. "Walter, I messed up." She gave a heavy sigh, taking the bag back so she could open it for him, then handing it back again.

Walter frowned, disagreeing. "No."

"Oh yeah!"

Walter glanced behind him at the stool sitting there and sat down. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. "Sweet?"

She took a sweet but didn't unwrap it. "Thank you, Walter. Yeah, I thought talking about it might be an idea."

Walter nodded. "I'm here to listen, Agent Dunham."

She smiled at him. "Walter, Peter and I..." She moaned. Ugh! It was so hard. She didn't even know why, but it just was. She had a fair idea that Walter would more than likely be over-the-moon about it, he always did like imagining the two of them as a couple, but that didn't make it any easier. Strangely, she didn't want to let Walter down any more than she wanted to let Peter down. She hated the idea that Walter would think she'd done something to hurt his child, that she'd been an insensitive lover.

Walter loved her to bits, she knew, even if things between them were complicated as Hell, and she hated thinking something like this might alienate her from him. She actually liked thinking of him as a sort of father-figure, and he was, in a way. And heck, he was Peter's father!

"What is it, Olive?" Walter looked upset now. Upset for her, she supposed. The conflict she felt inside must have been showing on her face.

"I don't know if I did something wrong or what I did. We, we did this thing, and now... nothing seems to have changed. I mean, it has, but not the way I'd have thought it would."

"Peter doesn't like custard," Walter told her sadly.

"I know that, Walter," she agreed.

Walter nodded, then frowned. "Oh, but you weren't talking about custard, were you, Agent Dunham?"

"No. I wasn't talking about custard, Walter. I was talking about Peter and me, s-sleeping together." She hated how cheap, how use-it-once-and-trash-it that made it sound, but she really hadn't been able to force any other words out of her mouth.

"You did?" Walter asked, seeming to give the idea some thought. "Well, that's good! Peter doesn't really like sleepovers." He frowned. "W-was this at your apartment, or at our house, Agent Dunham? I... I don't remember you coming over!" He actually sounded distressed.

"We had sex, Walter. In my bathroom. There was no sleepover party."

Walter fell silent. After a long moment, he asked, "Did you use protection?"

Olivia couldn't help it. She laughed. She only stopped when she remembered that, shit, no, they hadn't. "I'm sure we're both perfectly healthy, Walter," she told him.

He smiled. "Yes, I know how seriously you take your work, Agent Dunham."

"I keep fit," she agreed. "Walter?"

"What's wrong with Peter?" he asked, his smile slipping away. "Didn't he..." He winced, dropping his eyes to the floor.

Olivia touched his hand, resting on his leg. "I feel horrible! He was crying and I didn't once think to ask him what was wrong, if he was okay. I never even... said anything consoling. I was just so focussed on what I could get out of it! What _I_ needed!"

"Believe me, you wouldn't be the first," Walter told her. "Trust me, Agent Dunham, we've all been there before."

"I just wish I could undo it, you know. I wish I could have been better to Peter. I was _so_ mean!"

"I stole him from his real parents, from his _world_, and held him here under false pretences, Agent Dunham. From where I'm standing, I can see how we can do these foolish things out of love; these hurtful things. You shouldn't beat yourself up over it so much, Olivia."

She nodded, brushing at her eye. "I still can't help feeling like a monster."

"It often happens like that," Walter agreed. "But you're not, Agent Dunham. You're not a monster."

She nodded again. "Thank you, Walter. Thank you for not being mad at me."

"Oh, I couldn't! I couldn't be mad at you, dear. I guess Peter's just afraid of losing you, of letting you down."

"I can see how that might be the case, Walter. How it might be upsetting. I... I just don't want this to come between us. I really do love him."

"As I'm sure he loves you, Olivia."

She sniffed. "Sorry. I'm a bundle of messy emotions, right now. It's not pleasant to look at."

Walter shook his head, squeezing her hand. "You need not apologise, Olive. You're scared, too. I suppose it's just Peter's manner. You tend to start to think nothing could turn him away from you, until it does, and then you can't quite grasp how it happened. I'm sure he'll come 'round, Olivia."

"Yep." She nodded, eyes sad but hopeful, too. She silently unwrapped her sweet and popped it into her mouth and Walter remembered the bag on the bench beside him. Olivia had gotten them for him, hadn't she?


	3. Chapter 3

It was a dark night, but somehow, through the near smothering blackness, Peter could sense he wasn't alone. Walter was standing at the end of his bed, observing him silently. He had been for a while. "Walter, I know you're there," Peter said gently.

Walter seemed to stir then. "You're awake, son. I didn't mean to wake you." He sounded apologetic, then he said, "Agent Dunham said you've been down."

Peter was sleepy, but he very nearly laughed, even so. Olivia had talked to Walter about him. He sound have been better with her; should have suggested they talk. She was probably just as worried as Walter, only, she hadn't said anything to him. "I'm fine, Walter," he told his father. "Really."

"That isn't what she said," Walter insisted.

Peter sighed and sat up blindly in the dark, hearing the edge of hysteria stirring in Walter's tone, loud and clear. "Walter... I'm not down, I've just been a bit moody. I think... I think it was the trip. Travelling from the other side. Walter, come here. You should be sleeping yourself. Come here."

There was a sound of shuffling, then Peter felt the warmth of someone else's presence close by. He reached out a hand, the darkness was almost impenetrable, but he could still remember what the room should have looked like. He _should_ have been able to make out some small detail, but the "trip" he'd moments ago mentioned had messed up some of his senses. In time, they'd settle back into normality, but it was going to take time to iron out the deficits. "Walter..." His hand found an arm. "Hey, cheer up, Dad. I'm okay, alright." He smiled. "Give us a hug."

He felt Walter step closer and embrace him and held back from a sigh. Right now, he felt so awful for the way he'd treated Walter, but he'd had to do something. He would have loved nothing more than to forgive him, and if he'd just have told him, he told himself, he may have been able to do just that in a heartbeat, but the truth was, there was a dark, angry place inside him, too; a place that gave even him pause for thought, that made even him shy back from the mirror.

He missed Olivia, missed her laugh, missed simply caring for his father. He missed the easy, uncomplicated interactions from before, before this whole mess had exploded in all of their lives, ruining everything, scarring them all.

"Walter, it's late. You wanna go back to bed now, hey?"

Walter nodded mutely.

"Night, Walter."

"Goodnight, Peter."

When Walter had left the room and had been gone for a couple of minutes, Peter felt around in the dark for his cell phone, then squinted against the bright little light that blared up at him, making his eyes sting. He punched in Olivia's speed dial number and waited, listening to the phone ring.

"Peter?" Olivia's voice was bleary; he'd probably woken her up. "What is it?"

"Listen, Olivia, I should have said something earlier, tried to explain myself somehow. You've clearly been concerned."

A frown in her voice, Olivia said, "It's okay, Peter. I didn't say anything, either. How are you?"

"I'm good. A little tired..." He laughed softly.

"Yeah," she agreed. "But it's good to hear your voice."

He smiled, feeling exactly the same way. "Mmm." Just hearing her voice calmed something inside, made it easier to breathe.

"I... I'm sorry."

"Oh, Olivia!"

"No. I... I was selfish. I saw you were upset and I said nothing. I didn't try to make it better."

"But you do. You make it better just being here, just being you."

She laughed sadly. "I hated seeing you cry. I hurt for you, yet... I didn't know what to do, how to... How to speak! I didn't want to make it worse. I thought you'd say something, tell me it was okay."

"It is okay. It's fine, Olivia. It's just..." He sighed. "My moods have been strange, lately. They're all over the place. It must have been... it must be some kind of jet lag, I guess."

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too, Olivia."

"Peter?"

"Mmm?"

"I'll see you in the morning."

"Please do."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

He laughed quietly. "Sweet dreams, Livvy."

.

It had been a slow night, but that was okay with Rachel. She was actually glad she hadn't been rushed off her feet; she was a little tired, thinking about Ella and Livvy waiting for her at home. She needed this job to pay for a place of her own, and it wasn't so bad. The artificial lights and the constant hum of refrigerators in the background were all turn offs, but it wasn't so bad. She could struggle through because she had something good to hold her head above the water, to keep her from drowning. She had real love, real purpose; she had a family who loved her.

The twenty-four hour mini-mart wasn't so bad. She hummed along with the Bing Crosby number playing over the radio and was glad it was warm inside, at least. Outside, it was pouring down buckets. If the automatic doors had opened now, she'd have shivered in her flimsy uniform. She really should have went back to her car to pick up her cardigan. Next chance she got, she'd ask her boss if that would be okay. She didn't want to catch a cold on the job, it had to be bad business practise or something.

A gust of cold, wet wind blew into the shop, dragging her back to the present, and she corrected her slump quickly, standing up straighter. A customer. Thank heavens. She'd started to think she might be the only one alive around here.

She smiled at the man and found a note of warmth in her voice worth deploying for duty. "Good evening, sir." It wasn't really evening anymore, but "good evening" sounded better than "good morning".

The man didn't bother replying, but she wasn't too bothered. Some people weren't out and about at this hour for a little chitchat.

Something else was playing over the radio now, and she withheld a sigh. Sci-fi convention, huh? She supposed that could be cool, for a bit of escapism. Ella would probably love the Storm Troopers and immediately take it upon her to make one of them laugh.

Rachel smiled, tucking a few clumps of frazzled, unflattering blonde hair behind an ear. God, how that child could make her smile! She was a true treasure. But weren't they all? Each one precious, unique, each one deserving of a bright, fair future. The young ones, they were the future. They needed to be treated right.

Overhead, the lights flickered threateningly, and Rachel frowned, turning her eyes to the ceiling. "Oh, oi! No! Excuse me, but it's not knock-off time yet. You lot behave now. Be good." She sighed heavily. "This weather! By gosh. What will it be next? Oh, God! Rachel! Don't say _that_!" She pressed a few fingers to her temple, suppressing a heavy sigh. She pricked up her ears, picking up on what was playing over the radio, and hummed along. If the radio just kept playing, everything would be fine.

Everything would be okay.

.

After Peter had rung off, Olivia had tried getting back to sleep. It hadn't happened. The rain and wind was torturous. With a sigh of finality, Olivia slipped out of bed, her feet meeting cold floor. She crept across the room and made her way to the second bedroom quietly, careful not to wake Ella. Seeing that the little girl was sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the tumult outside, Olivia smiled and settled on the mattress next to her, just watching her niece sleep, the night light casting the walls in galloping bright, colourful stars.

.

The song she'd been singing along with quietly changed and an ad came on. Rachel tuned it out, remembering that her customer had yet to make it up to the register. She brushed a hand over her hair and stepped out from behind the counter, starting to move off in the direction of the aisles. She raised her voice, "If you're looking for something in particular, I-"

The automatic doors whooshed open, bringing with them a blast of stinging, chilly air. Rachel shivered, but turned to look at the doors, ready with a smile, if need be.

The three young people – two guys and one girl, probably no older than nineteen – didn't return her smile.

Rachel's eyes widened and she backtracked, hoping they wouldn't figure on to that they weren't the only four in the shop. One of the young men had a gun, and he was aiming it at her. His hand didn't shake a bit.

She held his gaze unwaveringly, for a moment or two, but nothing moved in his eyes. They were hard and unsympathetic. She wasn't going to be able to bargain with this one. "Is that really necessary?" she asked clearly, as she edged back towards the counter, trying not to bump into anything on her way or fall over her feet.

The young man merely flashed her a hard grin. "Whatta you think, pixie fluff?"

That was one she hadn't heard before, Rachel thought, in effort to calm herself. VV Brown was singing on the radio; Rachel had heard the song a couple of times. "I think it would be really nice if you didn't wave that thing in my face," she replied, forcing her voice to remain level and calm. "That way, I might be able to concentrate on what you're saying."

The girl tossed her chin, popping her gum loudly. "Here's a thought, Tinker Bell: why don't you shut the Hell up!"

The other young guy, the one sans gun, sniggered.

Rachel had a bad feeling in her stomach, like these three might just end up shooting her anyway, even if she gave them exactly what they asked for, just for the Hell of it. She held out her hands. "Okay, okay. Let's just all take it easy. Speak to me. What's going on here?"

The girl snorted. "What are you, lady, stupid? Whadda you _think_'s going on here? We got the gun, you ain't. Give us the moolah!"

"Money?"

The girl and the guy without the gun sniggered. "She's sure stupid," the girl told the boy. Then, to Rachel, "Yeah, lady, we want the fuckin' money! What's takin' you, retard!"

"I don't have much," Rachel told them. "Just what's in the till. I guess the boss doesn't much fancy the idea of one of us taking our liberties with our wages." She opened the till and did a mental count, cringing inside. Ugh! These kids looked like they meant business. A few hundred bucks would probably only piss them off. They'd think she was holding out on them.

She tried to maintain her cool. Everything would be fine; it would all work out. She'd make it through this night and make it back home to Ella and Olivia.

Everything would work out.

"Hand it over, bitch!" the girl spat angrily, her eyes sparking darkly.

Rachel started to get the money together, counting off the money as she did. Crap! She'd been right. The most she had was a little over three hundred. She handed the girl the money, her hands shaking despite her best efforts. The girl needn't have insulted her too.

The money was shoved into the hands of the guy beside her and he tallied it up quickly, a wry smile twisting his mouth.

The girl leant closer and whispered loudly, "How much?"

The guy whispered back the amount.

The girl laughed raucously. "Are you shittin' me, lady!" she barked. "What's this shit! That ain't all you got, I fuckin' know it!"

Rachel bit back a sob. "You're a mind reader, are you?" she asked calmly. "That's all I've got. I can go into the back room and fetch my purse; I think I've got a fifty and a couple of quarters, but _that__'__s __it_! I've hardly had a customer all night. It's cold and rainy. People would rather stay home, in front of their heaters and television sets."

"You're a liar!" the girl hissed.

"I am not a miracle maker!" Rachel told her firmly. "If you don't believe me," she waved a hand at the till: come look for yourself.

The girl scowled. "This is bullshit!" she growled, nodding to the young man on her other side. The one holding the gun. "Smoke her!"

The radio crackled and Rachel heard her heart beating painfully in her ears.

"Excuse me."

The girl whipped around wildly. "What the fu-!" Her eyes darkened meanly. "Who are you?"

Rachel deflated. Oh heck! She'd been hoping he would stay quiet. They didn't both need to end up dead. It was plain overkill.

"Who are you?"

The girl turned to snatch the gun from her friend angrily and Rachel caught sight of her face, scrunched up into a scowl, eyes furious. She pointed the gun out in front of her like maybe it was a sword instead.

"That ain't how you hold it," her pal told her, cutting her a look over his shoulder.

"Shut up, fuckwit!"

He sniggered. "Suit yourself."

The girl tossed her chin up at the stranger. "Shut up, weirdo! Who I am doesn't concern you! I asked you a fuckin' question!"

"Yes, you did."

She growled. "Answer the fuckin' question!"

The laughing young man narrowed his eyes on Rachel, keeping a keen eye peeled, and casually slipped a gun out of his jacket pocket. "Think you're pretty smart, eh, Tink?"

"I didn't say that," Rachel replied. "What I do think is that you don't have to accost my customers. I've given you what you asked for, and I have nothing more to give you. I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I'm not. I don't appreciate people pointing guns in my face. I think it's time you left, however."

He laughed. "Hear that, Win. Little lady here thinks it's time we vacated!" He laughed louder.

"Shoot her, you idiot!" the girl growled.

Rachel didn't take her eyes off the young man's. He didn't want to do that. He really didn't want to do that. "I haven't hurt you," Rachel told him.

He snorted. "Doesn't matter, you're a cow. Frigid bloody cow, I bet!" He raised the gun.

Rachel pointed to the door shakily. "Get out!"

The lights in the shop flickered. The young woman grabbed the young man's arm to tug him around and whipped around to face Rachel, a smile spreading over her face. "Wrong answer, bitch!" she laughed, and shot her. Laughing, she turned to her friends and flicked her chin in the direction of the exit. "We're outta here!"

"What about him?" the other one with the gun asked.

"Leave him! He's a freak! Move your stupid ass!"

They headed for the door. A moment later, they'd split.

Rachel stared with wide eyes at nothing really, her hand pressed weakly to her middle. The light was acting funny. Slowly but surely, it began to dim. Her legs didn't feel too steady. "Beats the magenta out of me," she whispered. "Try the yellow button." Then she collapsed.

.

Olivia woke with a start, her heart pounding in her ears. Rain lashed at the windows, stars danced on the walls, across Ella's sleeping face. Something was wrong.

.

Rachel opened her eyes. She didn't feel so good, she was so sleepy. She wished she'd brought her cardigan, it was freezing in the shop. She struggled into a sitting position, wondering, for a bleary moment, what she was doing on the floor. Strange place to be hanging out.

She frowned, then smiled a little bit. "You don't have to stay," she said, seeing that she was being watched. "I think it's going to be okay." She didn't know why she'd said that, it just felt like the right thing to say. Then she remembered, her eyes widening in alarm.

"Are you okay? You're not hurt. Those silly kids didn't hurt you, did they?" She tried to stand, but something stopped her. She suddenly felt very, very dizzy. She frowned, then tried again. Her hand slipped on the floor when she tried to get some leverage to push herself to her feet, but she eventually made it, swaying on her feet and reaching for the counter to steady herself. Her hands were covered in something dark. It rubbed off on the counter when she touched it.

She looked up, away from the blood, locking her eyes with the stranger's. He didn't look worried; she was glad. Maybe he wasn't angry at her, maybe he wouldn't have angry words with her boss. She really needed this job. "I'll call the police," she told him. "It'll be okay." Her eyes started to close, but she opened them wider, forcing herself to stay awake.

She stepped back from the counter, telling herself she could do this. Her cell phone was in the back room, with her purse. If she could make it there, she'd be able to call the cops. She started to sway and fell against the wall heavily, breathing hard. The pain was stronger now, but she told herself it was her duty to call the authorities, to inform them of the robbery. If she didn't, she'd be out of a job for sure.

Her eyes started to close again, she was leaning against the wall, not moving. A sob escaped her throat. "Rachel, just call the cops!" she implored with herself shakily, tears spilling from her eyes now.

"Rachel."

"I'm sorry, I'm going!" She pressed a palm to the wall, pushing herself away and stumbling forwards. It wasn't all that far; she could make it. It would be okay. When she explained what had happened, her boss wouldn't be mad at her. He'd see how frightened she'd been, and he'd forgive her. He'd give her another chance.

Someone was talking in the background, softly – or maybe that was the radio? – and she shuffled, stumbled forward, ever closer to the back room. Finally, her hand was on the doorknob, opening the door, and then she'd fallen down on the floor, scrabbling for her handbag, for her cell phone. She could barely see the glowing object in front of her, but she punched in the three numbers anyway, her hands shaking uncontrollably. It wouldn't be long now. She'd be able to go home soon; go home to her daughter and her sister. Soon, she'd be able to sleep.

Someone was speaking again, someone in the shop, or on the phone, she couldn't quite tell, but she held the phone closer to her ear and said, "Yes. I need the police, please. I've been robbed." She gave the address for the shop and her eyes started to close. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm just so tired..."

.

September frowned, cautiously making his way toward the back room, where Rachel had gone. She wasn't well. She'd rung for the police, but they'd be a while coming. The weather outside was atrocious, unforgivable. The lights had started to flicker again; the radio wavered, playing an old Roy Orbison song.

There was something troubling happening here, something to do with Rachel. September knew it wasn't the same thing that had happened with August, but it ran along the same lines. Rachel was Olivia Dunham's sister; Rachel was a nice person. He didn't like what was happening, it made him feel unsure. He didn't know quite what he should do. When he looked into Rachel's future, he saw two different outcomes; one shorter than the other. One where Rachel lived, and one where she died.

Olivia would cry; Ella would stop speaking. People would be hurt. But it wasn't his place to interfere. He knew this.

He didn't know what to do.

Perhaps, if he just stayed with her, Rachel would be okay. Someway, somehow. Maybe she wouldn't go away, but she'd stay. She'd stay because she didn't want to frighten him.

It had to be worth a shot.

When he reached the back room, he saw that Rachel was very pale, almost gone already. Her breathing had become steady and weak. But she was smiling.

He walked over and knelt down beside her, looking into her eyes. She barely saw him with glassy eyes.

He took the phone off her and set it down on the floor beside them, then picked up her hand. It was colder than it should have been. He held onto it, hoping she'd notice him soon.

He would have to leave soon. He couldn't stay. When the police arrived, he would have to be elsewhere.

Rachel's eyes rolled to the top of her head and she slumped to the floor with a small thud. Her hand slipped out of his.

"Rachel, stay."

.

Olivia screamed, horror and terror mixing in her voice hysterically. She rushed towards the doors, but was barred from entering by two police officers. "Rachel!" she cried. Tears found their devilish way into her eyes, bursting down her cheeks. Her legs felt suddenly weak, insubstantial. "My baby!"

She struggled to move past the two officers, but they weren't having a bar of it. Her heart broke and she suddenly remembered Ella, sleeping soundly at home, dreaming good dreams, happy dreams. Oh Ella!

"I want to see my sister!" she sobbed. "Just let me see her... Please!" Red, white and blue lights stained her cheeks, rain soaked her right down to her skin. She dropped to the pavement and cried. She just couldn't believe Rachel was gone. She just couldn't take it in.

It couldn't be real. It was a bad dream, that was all.

It was a crazy, crazy bad dream.

.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but the next thing she really, honestly knew was that she was out in the rain, dripping, sopping wet, but she wasn't alone. The place was buzzing with police cars, with people in official-looking uniforms, talking in brusque voices, but none of them looking at her. Nobody was looking at her, except Peter.

He was getting wet, but he didn't seem to notice. He was trying to catch her eye, talking to her gently. She stopped breathing for a second, then she lurched forward, into his arms. He smoothed a hand over her hair, rubbing a hand on her back comfortingly.

"Rachel's hurt," she whispered, barely able to bring herself to say the words aloud at all.

"I know," Peter told her softly. "The police explained what happened. She's at the hospital, Olivia. There's a chance – a slim chance, but still a _chance__ –_ she might pull through. Let's not give up on her yet."

Olivia started to cry again, and huddled closer to Peter. If she just stayed with Peter, everything would be okay, wouldn't it?

.

Astrid put a hand up to her mouth, shocked to hear the news from Walter. Rachel was a sweet girl. How anyone could want to hurt her was beyond Astrid's comprehension. It was crazy. "How is she, Walter?" she asked, but Walter didn't know. All he could offer her was a helpless look.

She didn't hold it against him. "Let's go get breakfast, Walter," she suggested, holding out an arm for him to take. She didn't see what else they could do.

Saying a silent prayer from Rachel, she offered Walter a small smile and the pair walked to the door together, both hoping for the same thing. That Rachel would be okay, that she'd come through.


	4. Chapter 4

Nina woke with a start to the sound of her cell phone ringing, and sat up straighter, reaching for her phone on the coffee table. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, listening to one of her Cuban albums. She didn't know the time, but it must have been late. Very late. She didn't feel a whole lot rested.

Grabbing her phone, she checked the Caller ID and saw that it was Olivia. She pressed the Answer button quickly, bringing the phone closer to her ear: "Nina speaking."

Olivia, though doing her best to maintain a calm, comprehensible tone, was clearly distraught. When Nina had listened to what Olivia had to say, she could well understand why, too. She told Olivia she'd be there soon and then they'd see if she could help. Of course, when she said "I", she meant the company she worked for, she meant Massive Dynamic, but she understood that that was why Agent Dunham had called her in the first place. She certainly hadn't called her for emotional support.

Walking to her stereo system, she turned the music off and started looking around for her car keys. Had she left them by the telephone, or in the kitchen, on the bench top? Blinking away the urge to sink back into the couch and go back to sleep, she turned about, ready to traipse off to the kitchen, and stopped short, seeing Sam standing there holding her keys. She sighed heavily and took the keys from him. "Thanks."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"That was Agent Dunham. Her sister's been involved in some nasty business. She's in the hospital right now, but I gather her chances aren't looking the best. She's been out of surgery for a couple of hours, but it's still very much touch and go. As sometimes happens. What time is it?"

"Five..." Sam glanced at his watch, "thirty odd."

Nina shook her head, wondering what kind of a person fell asleep on their couch listening to their stereo system when they had perfectly good company, when they could have been _sleeping_ in their bed, and headed off in the direction of the front door. "You're welcome to join me, if you're interested. I was under the impression that Agent Dunham and yourself seemed to get along quite well. She might take some comfort in your being there."

"I think you're right," Sam agreed. "Would you like me to drive?"

Nina shook her head, stifling a yawn with her hand. "Mmm-mm. I know the hospital where they took her sister. My GPS unit's decided to take leave, without permission. You can imagine, someone's not going to be getting paid." She opened her front door, then turned back to retrieve her coat, but, once again, Sam had thought ahead and now held it out to her.

"Thank you. Again." She pulled her coat on, telling Sam, "I can't imagine who would want to hurt Dunham's sister. As far as I'd heard, she wrote and illustrated children's storybooks. It's hardly international espionage. Sometimes, I think the world's far too crazy a place. Imagine raising a child in a world like this!"

"I guess you can only do your best," Sam replied. "And children can be quite optimistic. They don't always see the world as we do."

"A good thing, too," Nina muttered, frowning as she picked her way along the footpath to her driveway and her car. "Did you get some sleep, or did I keep you up all night with the stereo? Gosh, I hope not, but there you are. I'm difficult to be around at the best of times. I'm so selfish. Just work, please." She pressed the little button on her keys to unlock central locking, then pressed it again. Pressing it a third time, it finally worked and she moaned. Getting into the car, she waited for Sam to do the same, and glanced behind her to make sure she wasn't going to run into anyone backing out of her drive. That would be all she needed, to be honest. "Modern technology. I shouldn't be saying this, but the gear's only as good as what's put into it. If they don't take care making it, it's hardly going to stand up to much, is it? And, nowadays, they're always wanting to cut costs. Besides, if your car ran for forty years, no problems, you'd hardly be going out to buy a new one every five years, would you? Business, today! What are you doing now? No, of course I don't want to reverse! I think I want to fly to the moon!" She snorted. "What do you jolly think?"

"Nina..."

"The car hates me, I'm telling you."

"It's-"

"Yes, yes. I know. A machine. I'm just grumpy. I should take it in for servicing more often, I just get lazy; I have other things to do, for goodness sakes!" She sighed and spun the wheel around, heading off down the street. "Ah, a miracle! And we're off!" She almost sighed again. "If only James hadn't... Unfortunate business, I have to say. The poor dear was just starting to get a handle of his condition, and then to have something like that happen. It hardly seems poetic, hardly seems fair. Please, say something to stop me rambling on."

"Relax, Nina. Just remember to breathe."

"I don't have to remember to breathe, Sam," she replied back impatiently. "It's autonomic."

"Mmm-hm."

"Well, it is!"

"I understand."

She sighed heavily. "Okay, fine; I'll remember to breathe. I'm breathing, okay." She shook her head, falling silent. The point was to breathe, not to run her mouth.

For a long couple of minutes, she didn't speak, then, almost without noticing it herself, she started to sing Quizas, Quizas, Quizas quietly. Could she help it if it calmed her? Hardly.

Sam didn't say anything. She supposed he was thinking, thinking about Olivia, the poor thing. She'd been through enough to have to deal with this now, too. She needed her family around her, like anyone else did.

Nina didn't want to think about Olivia's sister dying. Distracting herself with the song she was singing, she didn't have to. She could believe, for a moment or two longer, that everything may still turn out alright. And why not, when it may very well? Why not?

.

Meeting Olivia at the hospital, Nina was filled in on Rachel's condition and the events that had led up to it. It was a long while, waiting to hear of Rachel's status, but Nina thought it would be best to stick around. Sam and Olivia struck up a conversation almost at once and Nina was left to ponder her own thoughts, then, half an hour later, she decided she'd get the others coffees. She could do with one herself. Peter stood up to offer a helping hand and she refrained from sighing and starting on with the negative comments again. She didn't imagine that Peter would appreciate it.

Peter asked her how she was, explaining that Walter and Astrid were with Ella, Rachel's daughter, and that they'd promised to call if anything happened, or Ella woke up. She wasn't going to stay sleeping for much longer. If they were lucky, two hours tops. She was a lot like Olivia; she'd rather be spending her time doing something meaningful than catching Zzzs.

"I can understand the sentiment," Nina agreed. "She must be a smart girl. What's the worth in sleeping your life away? You only get one life to live, after all, and if there is an afterlife or some other existence beyond death, well, you're not going to get the same opportunities again. Reincarnation, and all that. I doubt many people recall their past lives. You'd be doing well if you did. To think, all that you would know. Of course, you'd probably be a complete disaster, by modern society's standards. A social outcast. And I don't think it would be such a great idea to share your experiences with others; they might just decide to take you back to their lab and shamelessly, mercilessly experiment on you. Unpleasant, I'd think. Best to keep your mouth zipped." Reaching the coffee machine, she frowned at it. "Tell me this thing's working."

Peter patted the side of the machine almost fondly. Yep, he'd had his fair share of encounters with misbehaving machines. "Only time will tell, but it looks to be in order."

"I need caffeine; I'm getting antsy."

"And coffee's going to help settle things down?" Peter frowned tiredly.

"Don't ask me how, or why, but it works. With me, it works."

"Okay," he agreed, digging some coins out of one of his pockets.

Nina made a face and shook her head a little. "My shout."

"If you insist," he replied sleepily. "I really hope Rachel's gonna be okay." He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the side of the coffee machine, humming quietly. "Rachel's favourite song," he whispered, though she hadn't asked.

Nina almost patted him on the back, trying to be comforting, then she held back. Best not to, she supposed.

.

By nine, they had been given the news. Rachel was still with them. Barely, but still with them. By eleven o'clock, Nina had been to meet with her people and discussed Rachel's condition. Perhaps Massive Dynamic could help; they had a lot of stuff, knew a lot of stuff, the hospital just wasn't privy to. No, they did not have their healer anymore, but they had other things, they had technology.

Ella had been awake since seven. She'd been quiet most of the time, but when she'd woken up, Olivia had driven 'round to explain to her that Rachel was in the hospital, that she wasn't well. The hospital staff were still looking after her, they weren't allowed to see her yet. Ella seemed to accept this, staring at her hands clasped in her lap limply. She didn't cuddle up to Olivia, she didn't ask who Sam was, or if anyone had stayed at the hospital in case news of her mom came – Peter and Nina were still at the hospital – she just asked if she could go and have breakfast.

Olivia nodded and walked to the kitchen with her to fix breakfast for her. Nobody really talked a lot, then, not even Walter. He didn't try to cheer Ella up, or make fruit salad to cheer her up. He stayed quiet, like Ella herself.

Ella still went to sit down next to Walter, saying nothing at all, and rested her head against his arm. He put an arm around her shoulders and they watched Olivia and Astrid making pancakes. Sam made himself useful by making Ella a cup of peppermint tea. She took the tea silently and watched the steam rising from the cup. Olivia and Astrid were talking quietly, whispering so they wouldn't upset Ella, but Ella wasn't upset. When you put a bunch of people together in one place, they could either get along or they could start a war, but most times, it was a little bit of both, and some times, they pretended to ignore each other, and that was okay, that was existing.

She just wanted her mom to be okay.

"Thank you," she said to Sam finally. "I don't believe I caught your name. I'm Ella."

"Sam," Sam told her quietly.

"It's nice to meet you, Sam."

He frowned, but nodded. "It's nice to meet you too, darling."

Ella glanced at Walter. "Do you know Sam?" she asked.

He shook his head a little.

She frowned.

"I know Sam, dear," Olivia spoke up, leaning over and ruffling her hair, just slightly. "He's a friend."

"What does he do?"

Olivia smiled, but her smile disappeared almost as soon as it had come.

"Do you work together?"

"No. He's a friend."

"What kind of friend?" Ella asked.

Olivia nodded to her niece's peppermint tea. "A helpful friend."

Ella sighed heavily. "Can we have apple sauce with our pancakes, Aunt Liv?"

"Of course you can, sweetie," Olivia told her, remembering, at the last minute, to smile.

"Then can we get pizza?"

Olivia frowned. "Well, La, if you finish your pancakes and you've still got room for more, we may just order 'round some pizza. 'Kay?"

"Okay," Ella mumbled, resting her head against Walter's arm again. "What happened to Grandma?" she asked Walter.

"She's sleeping now."

Ella sighed. "Oh," she said. "Sleeping... in Heaven. Do you think they have pizza in Heaven?"

"I'm not sure."

"You probably don't have to eat food when you're dead," she said. "You probably do fine with your happy memories and a little starlight. I hope Mommy goes to Heaven if she dies, because I wouldn't want her to be alone, and I don't believe in Hell. It's too horrible; it can't be real. They wouldn't put all the mean people together, and all the nice people together someplace else. The nice people and the mean people should hang out together so some of the mean people would realise it's nicer to be nice, too. They shouldn't put the mean people together because then they'd all go on being mean to each other, and that isn't nice. I don't think that's how it goes when you die; I think you get to choose what kind of person you want to be and it's different because you don't have to worry about things like paying bills or eating or who's got the coolest car. You don't even need cars anymore."

"I don't think you need cars, either," Walter agreed.

"You could probably just wink and you'd be where you wanted to be. If Mommy dies, they might even let her visit me sometimes. She could come see me any time, I guess, and she wouldn't have to worry about how long it would take to make the trip. But they'd probably say she should live in the present, not the past. They'll say, 'Rachel, you have to let them go,' and then she'll have to stop thinking about us and missing us because she's not a part of our lives anymore. I just hope she'll have a friend there."

Olivia shook her head, seeing the shine of tears in Walter's eyes and knowing he wasn't about to say anything to that, so that left her. "Honey, Mommy's still with us, here on Earth. She's not going anywhere just yet, okay. She's still here."

Ella closed her eyes. "I know that," she said quietly. "I'm just saying."

"If you're gonna say it, baby, say it like it is. Rach isn't gone yet. I happen to believe she'll be coming home."

Ella opened her eyes. "I want her to be okay, too, Aunt Liv. She's my _mom_! But if she doesn't come back, I'll have to let her go, and she'll have to let us go. I'm just saying."

Olivia sighed. "Of course she wouldn't be alone, sweetie. She'd never be alone; she'd have Momma to keep her company, wouldn't she? Your Grandma Marilyn. She'd have so many friends she wouldn't know what to do with them all."

"And Peter's mom will be there, too," Ella remembered.

"That's right," Olivia said. "Elizabeth will be there, too, if she needs a friend. I'm sure they'd be wonderful friends."

Ella turned to glance at Walter. "Do you think my Grandma Marilyn and your wife are friends in Heaven, Walter?"

"I'm not sure I believe in Heaven," he said, at last. "It's a..." he sighed, "a nice idea, I suppose..."

"Don't you believe in souls, Walter?"

Walter frowned. "I think I do."

She nodded. "If you don't believe in Heaven, where do you think they go when their bodies die?"

"Perhaps they merely..." He fell short.

Ella frowned. "You can say," she told him, "I won't be mad."

He shook his head, then sighed. "Well, I just thought, perhaps... perhaps they don't go to Heaven, but perhaps they rejoin the collective, the energy of the universe."

"Collective?" Ella wondered aloud.

"Ah, all... all things. The collective."

Ella frowned. "That wouldn't be so bad. Mommy wouldn't be lonely if she was part of the... Collective."

"No, I don't suppose she would be."

"You look sad, Walter."

"Oh, do I?"

She nodded. "Is it bad rejoining the Collective?"

"No, no. I don't know. I've never... tried it. At least, that I recall, I suppose. The thing is, Ella, if Rachel rejoined the Collective, who's to say she'd still be Rachel. She'd just be a small part of the whole, she wouldn't necessarily know she was... a... semi-separate being, or that she'd ever been her own being bef-"

"Walter!" Astrid was staring at him unhappily. She didn't think it was appropriate for Walter to be telling a little kid stuff like this, even if it was just make believe anyway.

"I'm not angry," Ella assured her. "I understand what Walter's saying. He's saying Mommy wouldn't be angry or lonely anymore. She wouldn't remember all of the bad things that happened to her, and even if she didn't remember the good things, either, she'd have other memories that were happy. The memories of the whole universe. All of the happy feelings everyone has ever had would be hers. She could be happy, if she wanted to. She wouldn't have to worry about thing anymore, she'd just do what she always did. It would be peaceful, in a way."

Astrid smiled at her sadly, but the look in her eye when she met Walter's gaze said she hadn't forgiven him. They would be talking about this later.

"When I get sad, sometimes," Ella continued, "I wish I could just forget about the hurting inside. I wish I could remember the happy things instead, but the bad things always win. But if I could be a part of the whole world and all of the universe and know that bad things weren't the only things that happened, then I'd feel a lot better. I'm sure I would. I wouldn't go to lie down and cry, I would be able to lift my head up and walk around free. I like Walter's idea." She smiled at Walter. "It's not a bad idea, Walter."

He frowned, patting her hair. "Ella, you're a part of the universe now. You'll always be a part of it. You live here, in the universe, how can you not be a part of it?"

"I guess you're right," she said. "But I still feel sad and when people are mean or bad things happen, I still hurt because of them. I know good things happen to, and not everything that happens is bad, but the bad things really hurt and the good things can't make the bad things not hurt when they happen. I don't want to _die_ because I know I still have loads of good things in my future, but I can't make myself happy if something bad happens. I have to know that a bad thing happened or else I might do a bad thing to someone else and hurt them without knowing. I have to hurt to understand that hurt isn't a happy thing, or a kind thing. I could say, 'La, that is the way life goes. Things happen, and the world will always go on another day,' but I wouldn't not feel pain if I... like if I fell over and hurt my knee. I would just know my knee can heal and the pain would go away eventually."

"Eventually, yes. I suppose the pain goes away. It can become something else, too. A life lesson, a means to an end. Like the leaves that fall off the trees and then become something good for your garden, hmm?"

"I like leaves," Ella agreed. "The leaves still get to help the other things live, even if they are dead. They still get to live inside the other things, by helping the plants and the stuff that lives in the ground."

"Right."

"So they don't have to throw their hands up and scream or run around like it's the end of the world, because that's not true."

"No."

"That's a nice idea, Walter. I wouldn't be sad when I died if it was true. Only for a little while, and then I would be better again."

"Alright, you two," Olivia announced, walking over and placing two plates down in front of them with pancakes on them. "Time to eat. Press 'pause' on your conversation for a minute or two and tuck in." She went to get a jar of unopened apple sauce from the cupboard and opened the lid, getting a couple of spoons out of the cutlery drawer, and placed the jar down on the table with the spoons. "Apple sauce."

Ella smiled at her.

She smiled back. Turning back around, she leant her back against the table. "Would you like some pancakes, Astrid?"

Astrid shook her head, no. "I've already eaten."

Olivia nodded, turning to glance at Sam. "Sam?"

"No thank you."

She walked around the counter, returning with a plate of pancakes. "Have something to eat. It's better than fainting. I should know. Fainting hurts. Hurts your bones, to say nothing of your dignity. Ugh! My elbow's hurting, just remembering." She sighed and handed Sam a fork and a spoon. "Take your pick. I might have something myself."

"Not just Smarties, thank you," Ella piped up, from across the table, and grinned.

"Mind reader," Olivia muttered, mock annoyed, narrowing her eyes on the girl. She grinned. "No, not just Smarties. Thank you, Ella; I appreciate the reminder. I have a serious Smartie weakness. Incurable, but manageable." She grinned, then walked back around the counter. "Something to drink?" she asked Astrid. "Coffee, tea?"

"A cup of coffee would be a lifesaver," Astrid replied quietly, sighing.

"Just what I was thinking!" Olivia said, with a grin.

.

Olivia was finishing the dishes, watching Walter and Ella sitting on the couch. Walter was reading Ella a book. Harry Potter, she supposed. She'd gone with Ella to the library last Friday and they'd borrowed the first Harry Potter book.

Astrid was talking with Broyles on her cell phone and Sam was quiet, just thinking about things and helping out with drying the dishes.

Olivia had just taken the last plate out of the rinse water and was about to empty the water when her cell phone rang and she dug it out of her pocket, tucking some messy blonde hair behind her ear and turning her back on Sam to answer. "Peter, how is she doing?"

.

They were at the hospital. Ella had decided not to come. She didn't want to go because she'd only get sad being there and that wouldn't help. If she kept thinking of her mom being sick instead of thinking of her getting better, it probably wouldn't be a good thing if her mom was somehow listening in to her thoughts, but in a good way, like your pet knew when you were sad and came over to say 'hi' and 'the world's not all bad'. She didn't want to make her mom think she couldn't get better and come home. She stayed at Livvy's apartment with Walter and Astrid.

Olivia was glad to see Peter again, when she got to the hospital. She'd missed being near him. When she was with him, she felt calmer. Things didn't hurt her as much, get to her as much. She could face the world knowing she could be strong, knowing she wasn't a bad person, she was just one person trying to survive and trying to do the best she knew how by the people she loved and the people around her, all the people she shared this world with. She didn't feel so much like she was a let-down.

Peter explained to her what the doctor had told Nina and he – Nina was talking with her people on the phone; she would probably be going to meet them, soon. Rachel wasn't awake yet, but she was holding in there.

Olivia didn't allow herself to sigh in relief because she didn't want to jinks her sister. It was silly, but she had a feeling they weren't out of the woods yet. Rachel still had a heck of a fight on her hands. If she hadn't even woken up yet, then that had to say something, even if they'd given her drugs or not. They weren't keeping her in a drug-induced coma, from what she'd heard from Peter.

She hugged Peter and said, "I don't want to worry you but Walter and Ella have been talking about Heaven and the Universal Collective. Astrid isn't entirely pleased, but I think it's good for Ella to have someone to talk to about what she's going through, I'm just not sure what to make of the direction of their discussions. I didn't know Ella had given these things so much thought before. It makes me feel... awkward. Inadequate, I guess."

"You're not inadequate, Olivia," Peter told her. "People think about things. They don't always tell you what they're thinking. Heck, they don't always have it all figured out themselves. Sometimes, it's just good to discuss it with someone else. Even... even kids need someone to talk to, and I guess Ella feels safe talking to Walter about these things. It's a good thing."

Olivia nodded mutely, and stepped away from him. "I don't know; maybe I'm jealous. I don't think Walter would ever say anything to hurt Ella, but... I guess it just strikes me as odd that they'd want to talk about it now, when Rachel's not doing so well. Loads of people would prefer to push it away and pretend it wasn't happening, pretend like everything was going to be fine because they couldn't bear to imagine circumstances otherwise. They wouldn't talk about how they felt; they'd probably go off and do what they always did. I... I guess I just expected Ella to be more upset, to cry. I mean, I don't want her to cry, I just thought she'd... I just thought she would. I just don't want her denying this thing but telling herself she's dealing with it, then when it finally hits her she won't be able to handle it, she won't know what to do. I want to be there for her, to be able to help her, if she needs help. I don't think Walter means to encourage her denying anything, but Walter's an adult. He's been through a lot, he's had all of these discussions with himself a hundred times before, a thousand times before. He's actually been through this stuff, it's not just some story, some _idea_ to him. It's real. It's happened, done and gone. But for Ella, all this is new. She may think she's handling it but she might really just be pushing it away. I don't want... it being any worse than it needs to be. I just don't want her feeling bad for anything; for pretending it wasn't as bad as it was, or for... for anything, Peter!"

"I hear what you're saying, Olivia."

She nodded, frowning at him sadly. She knew he would. He understood her, he got her. He cared about people, too; people it was sometimes hard to care for because they didn't always care about themselves all that much, or they didn't care about anyone else, even those who cared about them. Or they just didn't know how to show they cared. Loving people was sometimes hard, but that didn't mean it wasn't rewarding, that didn't mean you stopped loving them. How could you stop loving someone when loving yourself was also about loving others?

Peter understood her in his own way, and he loved her. He was there for her. She just hoped she could be there for him, as well. If Rachel didn't pull through, she wasn't sure how she'd take it. She couldn't even say that she'd stick around to be around for Ella; she just hoped like crazy she wouldn't fall apart incurably.

She stepped closer and hugged Peter again. "I missed you, sweetheart."

.

Finally, Rachel was stable enough to have visitors. She wasn't conscious, but she was stable. Olivia was thankful. She'd needed to hear that Rachel was doing better so badly, and as much as she knew Rachel wouldn't be able to talk to her, she needed to talk to her. "Will you come with me?" she asked Peter quietly.

"Of course, I will. You don't need to ask, Olivia, but I'm glad you did. Of course I'll come in with you."

"It might be upsetting."

"You'll be there, won't you? I think that's all I need. Besides, we're friends, but she's your baby sister. I should think it would be more upsetting for you."

"Thank you, Peter."

"Don't thank me yet, Olivia. Just wait 'til I find the people who did this to her, then we'll see if it's a little too early to be administering distemper shots."

Olivia smiled a little. "Peter, I trust you. You won't do anything; the cops'll take care of them, when they find them."

"Let's just hope so, 'cause I'm pretty damn upset right now, I'm just trying not to be, for your sake, and for Rachel and Ella's."

"And you're doing a great job. Let's go see Rachel, okay."

He nodded, with a frown. "Yeah. Okay. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I understand."

"You're too good to me."

She laughed. "Oh, rubbish!"

"It's true," he told her, putting an arm around her back.

She smiled and they headed off in the direction of Rachel's room.

.

Nina hung up her phone and sighed, turning around to face Sam. "I have to go. Are you okay to stay here?" She put a hand up to his arm, meeting his eyes.

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

She nodded shortly. "I'll try to make it quick. I know Olivia and I haven't really had a chance to talk. I'll see you soon, okay."

"I'll be here."

"Okay." She nodded again, and turned and walked away. Maybe she could be of some use today after all. Just maybe.

.

Two months later:

Astrid glanced around at the clock, suppressing a tired sigh, and saw that it was very late. She shot a glance in Walter's direction, but he didn't seem to notice the late hour at all. Peter had fallen asleep in a chair in Walter's office a few hours ago, but Astrid had stuck around. Now here she was, sitting on this stool, hoping she didn't fall off it soon because she was so, so tired. "Walter?"

"Hmm? What's that, my dear?" He turned away from something he'd been working on and met her eyes, frowning a moment later. "You look tired, Asterisk."

"Yeah. I could make a killing, right, with these acting skills. Actually, I think that's because I am tired, Walter. Are you about ready to call it a quits for the night?"

Walter frowned again and glanced at the clock she'd consulted a couple of moments earlier. "Oh, is that the time?" His face fell. "Has Peter gone already?"

"No, Walter, he's still here. He just fell asleep." She nodded in the direction of his office.

"Oh, dear." He stepped back from his workbench and walked over to where she was sitting. "Astral, if you will go and wake Peter, I'll finish up here quickly, and then we can all be off home to our beds. Hmm?"

She nodded weakly and slipped off her stool. "I'll do that, Walter. Oh, thank heavens!" Sighing heavily, she headed for Walter's office, praying she didn't fall over anything in the process. She'd probably take a taxi home, she was _so_ tired.

.

Of course, Peter offered to drop her off home rather than her having to pay for the taxi, and she didn't honestly have the strength to argue. Walter was intent on listening to something playing over the radio, a band she supposed he liked from the old days, but when they finally pulled up at the curb near to her place, he took his attention off the radio long enough to pat her hand and say, "Goodnight, Assss...?"

She laughed weakly. "It's Astrid, Walter!"

"Astrid. Yes." He nodded. "And pleasant dreams to you."

"I hope so, Walter, I really hope so. Aw, and thank you. You, too."

He smiled at her and Peter asked, "Do you want me to walk you to your door?" but she shook her head.

"No, thanks, but thank you for offering. I'm not quite that bad yet, but I'm getting there. Night, guys. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, Astrid," Peter returned. Walter said nothing, back to listening to the radio. Peter waited for her to go to her front door and go inside, then he sighed and glanced at Walter. "Where to, Walter? Home, or somewhere for a little midnight snack?"

"Are you hungry, Peter?" Walter asked, frowning up at him.

"Of course. I'm your son, aren't I?"

"Technically, you're Walternate's son," Walter corrected him.

"Well, technically, yes. I am. But you're my father, too, Walter, and the last time I checked, not to make excuses for myself or cheapen things between us, but you weren't trying to kill me in order to save the world and destroy another one. I think it's safe to say I like you better. I'm with you. So what's it gonna be?"

"Where would you like to go, Peter?"

"If I said Olivia's, would you get mad at me?"

"No! No, of course not, son."

"But maybe we can get something to eat first, and I'll drop you off home. I'd best ring Olivia and find out if it's alright with her. She might get mad at me if I just turn up unannounced and wake her up. She's good, Walter; she could kick my ass any day." He laughed, and Walter smiled a little. She probably could, as well.

"Alright, if it's okay with you, I think I'd like to go to that diner on Holly Street."

"You read my mind, Walter!" Peter said with a grin, and pulled the car away from the curb, back onto the road. The diner on Holly it was.

.

Olivia pulled open to door with bleary-looking eyes. "Aw, get over here, you, and gimme a hug!"

Peter smiled and passed her something in a Styrofoam container.

"Turf it!" she replied casually. "I don't need it. I've got my Peter."

"Hang on," he laughed. "You don't even know what it is yet. And it's from Walter."

"Is that so?" she asked, taking the container and glancing inside. "Quiche. Ugh!" She moaned. "Walter is so bad!"

"You don't like quiche?"

"I like quiche, I really, really like quiche, but I like you more. Aw! Is that pumpkin and asparagus?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it," Peter replied.

Olivia made a little whiney noise and glanced at him sadly. "I'll be back for you, trust me on that!"

"Okay." He nodded, closing the door behind him. "I'll be here."

"You better be!" she said, already heading for the kitchen and grabbing a fork from the cutlery drawer.

When Peter walked in, she was sitting on the couch, tucking into her quiche and salad and chips. He smiled at her and decided that he liked seeing her eat, especially when it was something she enjoyed eating (as opposed to un-strawberry flavoured, blended flatworms).

"You want some?" she asked, looking up at him from the Styrofoam container in her hands.

"No, I'm right. I've already eaten. More than enough. Walter made me get dessert."

She grinned. "You know what, I'd have done the same."

He made a face. "Running, running, running."

"You could always try something different," Olivia suggested. "Mix up your routine a little."

"Oh yeah?"

She grinned. "I have the perfect suggestion."

"Perfect, huh?"

"Perfect!" Her eyes twinkled.

.

Rachel sat up in bed, her hand going for the telephone almost without her knowing it, but she couldn't ring Livvy now. It was far too late! She put her hand down, back on the mattress, and swallowed a sigh. She'd have gone to Ella's room to sit with her for a while, but the last time she'd done that she'd fallen asleep and she'd woken to Ella's worried expression. She wasn't doing that again.

She frowned to make out the room and decided she might as well get up and go for a glass of water. She was thirsty and it would do her any good dehydrating herself.

She'd have loved nothing more than to go down to the store and buy Ella that cake she'd been wanting all week, and the hour be damned, but she knew what anyone else would say: she'd just survived an armed robbery and a near-fatal gunshot wound. Why was she messing about with fate, tempting her destiny like that?

Suppressing a sigh, she walked to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water from the tap and drank it impatiently, still thinking about that cake.

Would it really be so bad if she popped by the store and had a look if they had the cake? She rinsed her glass out and turned it upside down on the draining board, deciding, to Hell with it, if she was going to mope around, drifting through life half scared to death from now on, there really was no point to going on. She was going to go out and get Ella her cake and everything would be fine! She'd see.

.

"Hello." She hadn't expected to see someone she knew, but, judging by the way the guy's eyes widened, he hadn't expected to see her, either. Or could it be that she was stalking him? Spooky or what?

"Hello, Rachel," he said, seemingly fine again. No wide eyes.

"So, how are things?" she asked, for lack of any other conversation starters.

"I am not sure how to answer your question," he replied calmly.

"Right. You're right." She laughed. "We don't even know each other. I'm..." She held out her hand, then shook her head. "But you already know my name. Of course. Rachel, yeah. I'm Rachel."

He frowned. "You appear in good health."

"Ah, yeah," she grinned. "I am. I'm fine, now. It was just some kids, you know. With a gun. Kids, and guns – not a good mix. Ugh! What were they thinking? They could've gotten themselves killed! It's terrible."

"I understand."

"You're not going to..." She fell short, sighing. "So, do you have a name, too? Of course you do, I just mean, do you think it would be okay if I knew it, too? I swear, it'll be just our secret. I won't tell anyone else if you don't want me to."

"I do not believe this is a wise course of action."

Rachel's eyes widened and she looked down at the cake in her shopping basket. "Oh, I know it's pricey, but Ella really loves it!"

He frowned, glancing at the cake, then back up at her face, suddenly seeming annoyed.

"Ugh! But you weren't talking about the cake, I'm betting. You were talking about us, making acquaintances. That's what wouldn't be wise."

"Yes."

She sighed. "Well, I guess it was nice meeting you again, and you're still- You know what, I'm starting to think you work for the Ford Motor Company, or something. Or a museum. A _Ford_ museum. You really like good old-fashioned... charm."

"Charm?"

"Mmm-hm." She nodded, wrinkling her nose. "It's a cute hat. It's good you don't have dark shades, then I'd probably think you were one of those men in black. Okay, so those guys were adorable, but I'm not so sure about the aliens stealing people's bodies thing. Seems kinda unromantic, you know. Not that romanticness has anything to do with it, really, but I just like to read things into stuff. All kinds of stuff. Even movies about aliens and hunky, kick-ass guys." She gasped. "Ugh! Did I just say that out loud! Gag me! Please tell me you're not traumatised for life!"

"I am quite fine."

"You're a real honey. I think I'll just... be going now. Be sure and enjoy the rest of your evening, though," she said, heading off down the aisle and turning back to offer him a smile.

He winced. "Mind the-"

She froze, and glanced around her. She laughed. "Thanks. That could have been unpleasant." Stepping to the side, she walked off down the aisle, admonishing herself for not paying attention to where she was walking. Sure, it was great catching up with friends, but could she really make that excuse in this case? She didn't even know the guy's name and he probably worked at some 1950s enthusiast place and was super smart and thought she was a real dill, not watching where she was walking and nearly piling up on supermarket shelves. Oh, how impressive, really!

She refrained from thinking about it any further, she hated when she got in her negative moods, and decided to just think about getting home first. When Ella woke up in the morning and looked in the fridge and saw what they'd be having after lunch, she'd be so happy. She decided to focus on her daughter and her happy smile instead.

She was so glad now she'd resisted the urge to touch the guy. She'd probably only have freaked him out, anyway, and he didn't really look like the easygoing, tactile type. Maybe she would have liked touching his arm or something, but she could just imagine the scared, wide-eyed look, like she was unfairly taking advantage. She had a feeling she wasn't anywhere near the guy's type. She probably talked too much for that, to begin with.

Suppressing a sigh, she started up some conversation with the cashier in effort to totally ignore the fact that maybe – yeah, _maybe_ – she liked the guy. It was preposterous. She didn't even _know_ the guy! And she was so not having a Lorraine from Back to the Future moment! Absolutely not! She was _nothing_ like Lorraine! Apart from her blonde locks and incurable habit of saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the _wrong_ time.

She laughed, pulling open her car door. Wow! She never thought she'd be the one comparing herself to some character from a movie, let alone Lorraine McFly! Now all she needed was a guy like Marty's dad and she'd be set. She didn't need a Biff; she'd already had one too many Biffs for comfort. But she could totally settle for a guy like Marty's dad, even if there was no Enchantment Under the Sea dance or "Get your damn hands off her!" involved. She'd probably be glad of it, actually.

If she never got shot again, if she never ran afoul of someone's sudden and uncharacteristic violent urges, she thought she'd be able to handle it. Very happily.

.

Olivia smiled at her, tilting her head in that way she sometimes did that said, You want to tell me, I _know_ you do!

Rachel laughed, cutting the cake into eight, as-even-as-she-could-manage pieces. "There's nothing, Livvy, I swear to you! It's just this guy-"

Olivia put a hand over her mouth, grinning at her widely. She shook her head. "You seriously didn't just say 'It's just this guy', Rach! Tell me I misheard, or something!"

"You didn't let me finish!" Rachel complained, but smiled too.

"Go on," Olivia replied, trying not to start laughing or anything else that might disrupt Rachel's story.

"He was at the supermarket and so was I, at the time. That's all there is to it, Olivia. We didn't even... swap numbers or anything. I don't think he was really into me 'cause... You didn't see his face when I said 'hello'!" She laughed quietly. "Like I'd whipped a Taser out of my sleeve and zapped him, I kid you not! Or was about to! Do I really look that Reno 911! to you?"

"What?" Olivia asked, with a grin.

"You know... It doesn't matter." Rachel sighed. "He just had this look like running screaming from the store would have been preferable to my company. I know, it's not a very nice thing to say, but he seemed really freaked out. And then... Well, I started going on about a heap of nonsense and he looked _really_ unimpressed. You're so smart, Livvy. And funny! I _know_ it's not just a walk in the park for you, but it doesn't seem like that at all. You make it look so easy, and I think... Maybe I'm just a downer, you know. Maybe I'll never meet another guy and Ella will grow up thinking guys are monsters or something. I don't want her to think that! It's not true. There are nice guys out there, I'm just... not their type."

Olivia shook her head, looking suddenly serious. "Rachel, you have to relax. Just have a nice time, and they'll have a nice time, too, hanging out with you. Yeah, sometimes it's not all as easy as snap-your-fingers or click-your-heels-three-times, but if you're with the right guy, trust me, it isn't hard. It just comes naturally. What's hard is saying 'goodnight' at the end of the night. That, is excruciating! You just want to grab a hold of his sleeve and pull out your best puppy dog eyes and say, 'I know you don't want to go, I can see it in your eyes, so why don't you stay! No-one else will have to know; it'll be our little secret!'" She grinned. "Or something like that."

"I'm so happy for you and Peter, Livvy."

"Thank you, darling. So am I, trust me. I would totally _die_ if anything happened to him. I love him so much! I mean, I wouldn't die, but I'd probably want to, as awful as that sounds. Try not to pull a face, but I think he might be my soul mate." She made a face. "I know! It sounds horrific! But I honestly don't mind. I don't want any other guy but Peter. I keep calling him 'my Peter' and I'm so, so scared I'll slip up one day at work, but then I probably won't even care because Peter will be looking at me with those eyes, and the rest of the team will be just standing there sort of awkwardly wondering if it would be out of order slinking off for the nearest exit before I..." she made hand grabbing motions. "Oh, God, I have nightmares about it!" she laughed.

"Wow!"

Olivia nodded. "Yeah, wow!" She smiled. "I still don't mind, you know, but it's so..." She made an awkward sound in the back of her throat, "Hah!"

Rachel sighed, brushing the back of her hand over her forehead. "Phew! It was nothing like that with me. I just... nearly piled up on a shelf," she added demurely.

Olivia laughed, biting her lip. "I can so picture it, Rach! You, and the shelf, and your guy with this, Uh-hum, I didn't know I was _that_ Edward! look on his face."

"Edward who?" Rachel asked, with a smile. She waved a hand. "I don't know any Edwards, excuse me."

"Uh-ah. Just guys you met in the supermarket."

Rachel nodded, then froze, her eyes widening in horror. "You!"

Olivia laughed. "So you do like him?"

"Maybe a little bit," Rachel said, glancing down at the cake. "But I like this cake _loads_ more! It doesn't make You're scaring me, lady eyes at me."

"If it had eyes, it probably would."

Rachel frowned at her. "Why? It's a cake. It's _meant_ to be eaten!"

"Yeah, and guys are meant to be 'loved'!" Olivia told her, gesturing talking marks in the air.

Rachel shook her head, turning to take a stack of plates from the cupboard, and sighed. "I rest my case, Livvy, but I'm telling you, I don't even remember the guy's name. I'm so not into him like that, I just thought he seems like a nice guy."

"What, even with the Stop! Stop! You're killing me! eyes?"

Rachel moaned. "Argh! Olivia! I'm a woman; I can be dill-brained at times. Yes, even with the eyes, I thought he seemed like a nice guy. So arrest me!"

"You are _so_ interested."

"No, I'm not. I don't even know if he has a girlfriend, or a wife, or what's going on with the guy. I am not interested. Well, not like that. Maybe I wouldn't mind being friends with him, but that is all! Friends, Liv!"

"Who wouldn't you mind being friends with, Mommy?" Ella asked, appearing suddenly in the kitchen and staring at the cake for a long moment, before dragging her eyes away and looking at Rachel again. "Are you talking about Aunt Liv's friend, Sam?"

"Sam?" Rachel asked, leaning back and sneaking a glance at Olivia. "Sam. So who's this Sam then, Livvy?"

Olivia laughed. "Ugh! Come on! We're just friends."

Ella nodded. "It's true. I grilled her about it when Sam came around to her apartment."

"When you were in, you know-you know," Olivia whispered. The hospital.

"Okay," Rachel agreed, looking thoughtful. She handed a plate with a piece of cake to Ella. "Here you go, sweetie." She smiled at her daughter.

"Grandpa didn't know Sam, either, but it wasn't a big thing. Aunt Liv loves Peter. I know that."

"Is there anyone on the planet who _doesn__'__t_ know?" Olivia asked, feigning irritation. "Ugh!"

"Does your boss know?" Rachel asked.

Olivia looked at her with wide, alarmed eyes. "I'm not so sure about that!" She looked at Ella suddenly, then took the plate Rachel was offering to her. "Hey, kiddo, you gonna eat that or am I gonna have to come over there and eat it for you?"

"You have your own piece."

"I want more; I'm greedy. It looks so nice!"

"You are not greedy, Aunt Liv," Ella told her.

"Tell that to my boss."

Ella frowned.

"Let's just say I like things to go my way. I don't like when I don't win."

"That's not greedy, Aunt Liv, because you want to help people. That's doing the right thing."

"Yeah," Olivia agreed. "Come on, let's go eat some cake." Olivia sat down at the table and pulled out a chair for Ella, smiling at her. Yeah, she supposed Ella had a point. It wasn't _just_ greedy.

.

Brandon glanced up from the monitor he was consulting to see Nina talking with one of the other scientists quietly, and glanced at the door to see if Danielle was around also. She wasn't. Looking back to Nina and his colleague, he thought his boss looked a little paler than usual, though, to be honest, she was a redhead, and red hair and pale skin did so like to go together. Still, it was true, she was even talking slower than usual, and she didn't sound so much like she could bite anyone's head off with just a handful of words. Wondering if she was sick, he went back to the computer screen in front of him. He'd have to ask Danielle about it next time they met up.

He liked Nina. She was a little strange, but on the whole, he liked her. And, on the plus side, she seemed not to mind him. Even when he went off on tangents, she always let him talk and listened politely. Occasionally, he'd ask her some question and she'd surprise him by having an actual answer. He didn't think she was stupid, and even though she was second to Dr. Bell, she wasn't just about taking orders and not thinking about what she was being asked to do. In the time he'd known her, they'd had some pretty interesting conversations about things. He always liked talking to Nina. She was intelligent but she also knew how things functioned with the rest of the world and he liked the perspective she could bring to their talks.

Danielle might have been quite clever, but he hardly imagined himself ever having a conversation like that with her. Most of it would probably go right over her head, though he didn't mind. He had a feeling Danielle wasn't all that interested in him but was mostly playing it up to impress her colleagues, but he didn't really mind. He wasn't about to do anything to wrong her either way, he just wasn't that kind of guy, so she could tell her friends anything she wanted and it wouldn't concern him, just as long as she wasn't spinning tall tales.

He liked spending time with Danielle; he just hoped they could spend more time together and nothing happened that would ruin that.

He stood up and was about to go over to read a printout from one of the diagnostic machines when he noticed Nina standing nearby not really talking to anyone, but with a pained expression on her face. She looked even paler than before, if that was possible. He walked up to her quickly and tried catching her eye. "Are you okay, Nina?"

She tried to smile. "I will be, Brandon, but thank you for asking." She winced and pressed a hand to her stomach, but not too harshly, and he frowned. He wasn't sure she was okay. She sure didn't look okay.

"I think I should call someone," he told her.

A note of fear accented her voice and she said quickly, "No! No, I'm fine, Brandon. You don't have to call for anyone. I'm fine, really." She straightened up as best she could and smiled, with some difficulty. "I'm fine."

He tried to smile back but he knew she was lying, he just didn't know why, and he was worried. He really didn't like just letting this go, but he decided he didn't really have any other choice so he nodded, pretending as though he was perfectly fine with her answer.

She stuck around for a couple of minutes to ask him how he was and what he was working on, but he could tell she'd rather be elsewhere. The pain was getting worse and he almost winced each time she met his eyes, pretending like everything was fine when it really wasn't.

When she finally left, he grabbed his phone and called Danielle on her cell. She'd told him not to, and he remembered them having just that discussion, but he didn't feel comfortable just letting this go anymore. He needed her to know things weren't okay with her boss and to be on the lookout or to seriously call for help. Yeah, Nina was strange and secretive, but he didn't want anything bad happening to her.

She wasn't just his boss. He liked to think she was a friend, as well.

.

Danielle had barely turned the corner to the elevator when she noticed Nina making her way over, looking, as Brandon had said, worse for wear. She'd been really annoyed with Brandon calling her on company time, but she let her annoyance go now and decided she was glad he had. Something was up with Nina and it didn't look pretty.

"Nina, you look like crap," she told her, walking over and placing a hand on the older woman's arm. "Let's go and s-"

"I'm fine, Danielle," Nina told her weakly, but there was no way Danielle was buying her story when it looked like she was about to pass out any second.

"We seriously need to go and see someone, Nina," she told her boss, trying to catch her eye, and frowned when Nina swayed a bit, then collapsed to the floor. She didn't scream or take a step back, but she sure felt like ditching the Let's not talk to each other at work rule she'd made up, and calling Brandon. It was too much! She needed to talk to someone about this crap!

She took out her cell phone and called their med department, instead. Obviously, Nina wasn't getting up any time soon – she was probably passed out – and no way could Danielle move her _anywhere_. She talked to the receptionist in the med area and within a minute and a half a bunch of people had arrived to help out. She was glad because she knew _nothing_ about first aid or any of that stuff. The only thing she knew was that you put ice on sprains or burns, and Band-Aids on anything else, saying gunshot wounds. Then, you called the funeral home.

Fluttering around beside Nina, she anxiously asked, "Is she okay? What's wrong with her?" only to receive an agitated look from one of the med techs who obviously thought she was a real nim.

"I don't know yet, but if you give us some space, Miss, we might be able to find out," he replied darkly, and she stepped back sharply, feeling as though she'd been slapped. A real cheery, happy-go-lucky character that guy was then.

Once they'd gone, she walked to Nina's office and sat down on the desk, taking out her cell phone and flipping through her Phone Book until she found Brandon's number. "Ah, Brandon, I just thought I'd call you to tell you how Nina is. Well, she kinda fainted, or something, and I had to call the med techs to come and help. I hope she's going to be okay because the techs couldn't tell me anything but to back off and stand back whilst they did there thing. I just hope everything turns out okay for Nina because if not... then I'm not sure I'll still have a job around here. No-one but you and Nina likes me..." she lamented sadly, staring at her crossed legs and the way her high heels didn't quite touch the floor but sort of dangled in mid-air instead.

She really should have been nicer to Brandon, she supposed. If she'd been nicer, they might even have kissed already. She could totally go for a nice, warm kiss right now, she thought. With maybe a little hot passion thrown in for good measure. Yeah, she could so go for that. It would take her mind off all of the terribleness of the last half an hour, she was sure.

Brandon was saying something to her but she didn't really hear him and cut him off, saying, "Brandon, can you just come up here, please? I'm really not really well and I'd be so happy for a shoulder to cry on. Not... that I'm going to cry, I just think it would be nice if I had someone to relax around and not always have to stick my chin up in the air and look down my nose at people, you know. Do you think you could drop by?"

"Sure, Danielle. Just give me a minute and I'll be right up. I won't be long, okay."

"Okay," she mumbled miserably and ended the call, slipping her phone back into her jacket pocket. She looked around the desk sadly and thought how sad it was that Nina didn't have any pictures or anything; no photos of family or friends. It was really sad. Feeling tears welling up in her eyes, she closed them before any leaked out and told herself she wasn't going to end up like Nina: old and alone. Brandon was a nice guy and she was going to make the best of their friendship. She didn't care anymore what her friends said she should do. If need be, she'd lie to them and just go on and do her own thing. She just didn't want to end up old and alone and bitter, with no-one to offer her a hug when she needed one. She just wanted someone.

She didn't think that was such a big ask.

She didn't open her eyes again until she heard someone's footsteps drawing near and wondered if it was Security and a spike of fear leapt in her chest and she snapped open her eyes, afraid something really bad had happened to her boss and now they were going to blame her, or at least turf her out on her ear on the street for her incompetence.

When she saw that it was just Brandon she supposed he'd probably knocked but she just hadn't heard. Tears stung in her eyes and she held out her arms from him and he hurried over and let her hold him, resting her head on his shoulder and sniffling quietly, letting her tears rush down her cheeks and not even caring.

She didn't exactly enjoy being so useless, but people just seemed to accept her this way, and they never seemed to like when she tried to be any different, except when something went wrong and then they were just glad to have a scapegoat. She hated that! Hated it! She just wanted to be able to do one thing in her life right that didn't hinge solely on looking good and sweet-talking people. Just one thing!

Lifting her head up off Brandon's shoulder, she stared at him for a long moment, wondering what he saw – if she didn't look so nice anymore, and if that worried him, or scared him? He didn't look scared, he just looked sad for her, and maybe for Nina, too. She didn't smile to try to reassure him that everything would be fine or anything like that, because, realistically, how would she even know how everything would turn out, she just slipped a hand around to the back of his neck and brought her face close to his and kissed him.

He didn't push her away or try to stop her, so she didn't. She just let all of her troubles go and let herself get lost in this kiss they were sharing. Nothing else mattered much to her at that point, just feeling a little less shitty, and right then, Brandon was the one who made her feel like that, who made her feel better, and that was totally okay.

.

Nina stared at the plain-painted wall morbidly and tried not to cry or anything stupid like that. She couldn't help shivering but that she could forgive herself for. Crying, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself for, and in front of her employees, no less. She had a duty to do better than that. She was just so mad at herself for ignoring the pain and letting this thing go on for so long. She'd known for the better part of a week that something was wrong, but she'd decided to ignore it rather than address it, and now this had happened. It was no wonder her car hated her and was continually packing up, she thought. She was lousy at taking care of things: even her own body!

She sat there shivering, waiting for the doctor to return to tell her what was wrong with her, hating herself silently. She supposed he'd probably tell her she was dying, and she'd probably laugh and say, "Bullshit!" Or else she'd just shrug and say, "Oh, okay. Now that that's clear, I've got some really important stuff to do that can't be delayed. Back off to work then, I suppose," and skip on out of the doctor's office to his horrified expression.

She bit back a sarcastic laugh and promised herself she wouldn't do either of those things. She'd stay calm and level-headed and she'd listen to the doctor's diagnosis and whatever it was he recommended, then she'd go and do some research of her own and think about it some more. Maybe she'd even talk to Sam about it. Sam was hardly ever _not_ calm. It was wholly unforgivable and at the same time, totally loveable. She had no idea how he did it, she just knew he did. Somehow, he did. She just knew she never wanted him to change. Not that the choice was up to her, but she thought he couldn't possibly be a nicer person if he tried. He was probably the most sensible, nicest person she knew, even if she wasn't a big bowling enthusiast and couldn't get how he worked in that place day in day out.

She was different from him, always looking for thrills and people to pat her on the back and say how smart she was, how bright she was, how good she'd done for herself. Sam didn't need any of that; all he needed was to see that people were happy, and coping, that was all. She wished she could be that other person, but it wasn't happening any time soon. Glancing at the door that was determinately staying shut, she already felt like biting the doctor's head off for taking a millennia to return with her results. Hadn't he had enough time to work this rubbish out whilst she'd been unconscious, for goodness sakes!

She knew she was just being cranky and she had to seriously dial it down before she lost it, but it was hard to do when everything she looked at – the walls, the floor, the ceiling – made her feel sick, made her feel all the more like the room was shrinking in on her. She needed to talk to Sam, to hear his calming voice, but what would she tell him? 'I'm bored. This paperwork is killing me. Know any good jokes?' He'd think she'd lost it and was up on the roof preparing to turf herself over the edge to her death, or else he'd decide she had started to deny something, like the fact that she wasn't a spring chicken anymore and couldn't just slack off and say, 'Oh, well, it'll be okay. There's always tomorrow.' Not that he even thought like that, but she would think he did, no matter what, and then she'd get pissed off for no reason and when she saw him again, she'd probably start yelling at the poor guy and if he didn't think she was mad then, she'd really seriously have to rethink the whole Sam isn't mad, no way thing. Because any normal person would be going, 'Hey, hang on. Hold up a sec. What did I do?'

She glared at the door, for a long moment, then stared down at the floor. Sam was too nice for her. Why he even stuck around, she had no idea. Maybe he was mad, but in a good way. Maybe he did care for her, but it hurt to think someone cared about her so much when she was so self-centred, when they would only end up getting burned. Why couldn't they see that and scamper? She didn't want Sam to leave her, but she hated the idea of hurting him just as much as she hated the idea of being without him. She didn't know what to think or feel, a lot of the time; she just knew she cared about Sam, a lot. And Sam, crazy, wonderful Sam, cared about her, too. It wasn't fair for him, but she so needed him. If she'd been a stronger person, Hell, yes, she would have made up some nasty lies to drive him away. He deserved a real person, not her. She wasn't even a whole person, was she? And her old friends – Walter and William – not even they wanted to talk to her particularly unless it was for work.

She was just that great of a person!

The door finally opened and she sat up straighter, lifting her eyes from the floor and digging out a suitable mask to fool the doctor. He didn't look pleased, whatever was going on, and her heart sank. If he told her she was dying she was going that instant up to the roof to turf herself off the top, sorry, Sam, but she didn't know what else to do.

"I don't quite understand what's going on here," the doctor began, and she almost laughed and pointed at the piece of paper on the wall, demanding loudly, "Is that real, or is that real, doctor? What the blazes do you mean, you don't _quite_ understand?", but he hadn't finished, so she let him go on, "but it appears... It appears that you are pregnant, Ms. Sharp."

She started to smile, thinking he was having her on, or he'd got her results mixed up with someone else's, but the seriousness of his face told her otherwise. He actually, really meant what he'd said. "I don't think so," she told him, smirking now. "You must have gotten something wrong, because that's highly unlikely, doctor. You do know how old I am, don't you?" She leaned closer and nodded behind him to his computer. "If your memory's a little lacking this afternoon, why don't you check on my file, hmm?"

"I've run through the samples four times, Ms. Sharp. I don't think there can be any mistaking the results."

She crossed her arms, doing away with the smile now. "I don't think you know what you're doing, doctor, if you don't mind my saying, and just to prove me wrong, I'd like to go for a second opinion."

"Go ahead, I say," he replied, waving a hand out in front of him. "I don't think anything's going to change, but if the idea of being a mother is so incomprehensible to you, then go ahead."

She scowled, but bit her tongue just in time to stop herself from going the guy. Slipping out of her chair, she stood up stiffly and headed to the door without another word.

She would definitely be seeking a second opinion.

.

Stomping barefooted back to her office after failing to locate her shoes, she flung open her door and, with a quick glance around, commented angrily, "Danielle, I would greatly appreciate if you did not conduct these shenanigans _on __my __desk_!" When the pair broke apart and she saw who they both were, she smiled at Brandon and said warmly, "Hello, dear."

He blushed and looked at Danielle, then the floor, then back up to her face. "How are you feeling?" he asked finally, whilst Danielle straightened her blouse and hopped off the desk to go hunt around on the floor for her jacket.

"Fine, now, thank you. I appreciate your asking. Danielle!"

Danielle shot up from the floor with an expectant look on her flushed, embarrassed face, her jacket clutched tightly in her hands. "Ms. Sharp!"

"Put your jacket back on and go take a break. I'll need the use of my desk once more."

"Of course, ma'am. I'm terribly sorry, ma'am."

Nina waved a hand at her and sighed. "Alright, that's enough. Don't make things worse for yourself, Danielle. Just go."

"Yes, Ms. Sharp."

"You may call me Nina, you know. That is my name."

Danielle nodded quickly, looking apologetic through her heavy embarrassment.

"Goodbye, Danielle," Nina told her, and watched her hurry for the door, pulling on her jacket as she went. She stopped at the door to wait for Brandon, and Nina nodded to him that it would be fine if he left, also, and he slowly walked over to join her.

"It's great to see you're feeling better, M- Nina!" Danielle called out to her, right before she pulled open the door and walked out, and Nina just opened her desk drawer and had a look around for the business card of her regular doctor. She didn't look up again until she'd heard the door click shut and she leant back in her chair heavily, wondering what she was going to do.

What if she really was pregnant, despite the odds? How was she going to tell Sam _that_? And what if it didn't last, or the baby turned out to be seriously ill or something? How would Sam and her ever live through that?

Putting the card back in her desk drawer, she took out her cell phone and texted Sam: Nightmare time. We need to talk. It might be an idea to bring wine, if you drink wine. I'll see you later. Regards, n.

She supposed she would have to try and do the right thing, at least.

She placed her cell phone down on her desk and placed a hand over her abdomen. Nothing felt any different to usual, but she supposed she wouldn't really know. She'd never had kids before, and she could hardly ask Elizabeth, or even Carla, because they were dead. Long dead.

She sighed, and picked up her phone again. Keying in the number she wanted, she closed her eyes and listened to the phone ringing, hoping, with each ring, that it didn't pick up.

.

Olivia glanced down at her phone, seeing that it was Nina Sharp calling, and smiled at Peter and pressed the button to take her call. It was strange, Nina calling her now, but who knew what weird and fantastical stuff Nina had to tell her now. "Olivia Dunham," she answered.

Peter smiled back at her and she tried not the laugh, nodding along with Nina as she spoke.

"Okay. Uum-hm. Yes, she has. Ella, yeah. Why are you bringing it up, if I may- P-personal? Okay. Now I'm officially intrigued! You want to meet her? Okay, I'll ask her. Yeah, no problem. Talk to you soon." She lowered her phone from her ear and shrugged. "She wants to... talk to Rachel."

"Rachel?" Peter asked, frowning. He looked worried. "Why did she bring Ella up?"

"I'm not sure. She wouldn't say. She just said something about it being a personal matter and insisted that I enquire with Rachel if they could meet, or not."

"What are you going to do?"

"Ask Rachel, I guess."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "I mean, it's weird, but... It could be harmless, right?"

"It's possible," Peter returned uncertainly.

"Oh, I won't be letting her near Rachel and Ella without being there myself, but I figure I could at least hear what she has to say to Rach."

Peter nodded. It was probably a good idea.

Olivia scratched her neck. "Argh! Now I'm really uptight. Ugh!" She dropped her hands into her face for a moment, mumbling between her fingers. "If anyone even _thinks_ of touching Ella, I'll blast them into next year, I swear!" She let her hands fall from her face.

Peter walked over and squeezed her arm. "Hey, it'll be okay. Nobody's going to hurt Ella. You'd never let that happen, and neither would we, any of us. We all love that kid."

"I know." She looked at Peter. "I know that Peter. I just... can't help but worrying. After what happened to me and those others kids, I'm starting to think anything is possible. There are some people out there who have absolutely no morals and life, to them, means nothing more than a free pass to run some sinister lab experiment in the real world. It's sick!"

"It's gonna be okay."

She nodded. "Mmm. I hope so, Peter." She glanced past him at the elevator, then nodded that way and they walked off for the lift, Olivia leaning forward to press the button.

"Did you remember the dates Walter wanted?"

"Mmm-hm."

"You have an incredible memory! I completely forgot. Typical. I was thinking about the doughnuts."

Peter laughed. "Me, too."

She smiled at him, pressing a hand to her forehead. "You. You make me laugh."

"I apologise. I know how highly you pride yourself on your ability to maintain a professional exterior, Agent Dunham."

She grinning, smacking his arm playfully. "Oh, be quiet! The elevator's coming. Don't tempt me, Mr. Bishop!"

"Oh, I'm willing to bet there'll be at least two or th-"

The elevator doors swished open at that moment and Olivia's eyes lit up, noting that there was no-one else in the elevator. She put a finger to her lips and grabbed the front of Peter's shirt, pulling him into the elevator after her.

.

She tucked a stray strand of fair hair behind her ear and went to grab her cell phone whilst Peter went to deliver Walter the stuff he'd asked for. "Save me a doughnut!" she called out after him, and waved to Walter. Yes, she meant him.

"Rachel, hi! I know, what's going on? All of a sudden, I'm ringing you at all hours. I just can't stop myself. How are you?" She nodded. "Well that's good to hear. Um, yeah, actually, you remember Nina Sharp right? Yeah, yeah. Massive- Mm-hm. That's her. Well, she says she wants to talk to you. She wouldn't say why. I promised to ask, so... Oh, you will. Okay. That's wonderful. I'll ring her back now and let her know, then I'll ring you and run a time by you. Okay. Okay. I'll talk to you in a bit. Love you." Glancing across the lab to where Walter and Peter were standing, talking about something, she called out, "Rachel said yes. I'm just gonna call her back now."

Peter smiled and frowned at something Walter had said.

"Hey, Olivia," Astrid greeted.

"Hey!"

Astrid walked past, over to the guys, and patted Walter's arm. "Do you mind...?"

"No, no. Go ahead, Astor."

She closed her eyes and laughed quietly to herself, then reached over to take a doughnut.

"Walter, it's Astrid!" Olivia could hear Peter telling him now. "As-trid!"

"Asteroid? What asteroid? Have a doughnut, Peter. You worry too much."

"Hey. Yeah, it's me. Ah, Agent Dunham. Rachel said okay, that- that'll be fine. Did you have a specific time in mind?"

.

"What?" Olivia leant forward, peering across the room at Nina, who was currently sitting with Rachel on her couch in her apartment. She hadn't thought it such a good idea letting Nina into Rachel's house, so they'd agreed to meet here, at Olivia's place.

She shook her head.

"That's what the doctor told me," Nina replied simply.

Rachel was smiling, but Olivia still didn't get it.

"Nina, you're not involved with anyone, are you?"

Nina coughed, her eyes widening and flying to Olivia's. "My dear, that is how... that is traditionally the way in which children are conceived."

Olivia tucked some hair behind her ear, trying not to wince or make a face. "Are we talking about Walter, here?"

Nina stared at her in horror. "Walter?" she murmured blankly. "Peter's Walter?"

Olivia nodded.

"No! No. Absolutely not. Someone else entirely. You..."

"I don't know him."

"I think... Yes, you do, but it's not Walter. Walter has been through enough with Peter. I don't think..." She sighed, falling short. "I have a feeling Walter's not looking for a girlfriend right now, Agent Dunham, and, in any case, I wouldn't make a very good companion for anyone, were he."

"But... Someone obviously seems to think otherwise."

"Clearly, they couldn't have imagined the possibility of a child ever coming up," Nina returned coolly.

Olivia shook her head. "Are you going to keep it?" she asked.

Nina scowled, muttering, "Am I going to get up, go over there, and ask if I could borrow your gun and shoot myself in the head, Agent Dunham? No. Am I going to keep my baby. God, yes! If that's at all remotely possible!"

"Okay."

Nina turned to Rachel. "I... I've never had a child before, my dear. I know nothing about... such things. And you have a beautiful, healthy daughter. I... thought I might... be able to find a little sound advice, if I asked you."

Rachel nodded understandingly. Well, she'd been a lot younger when she'd had Ella, but they could always talk.

.

Olivia pulled open her apartment door, grabbing Peter's arm and tugging him inside before kicking the door shut after her, her eyes wide and bright. "Take a wild, crazy, _mental_ guess! What do you think Nina wanted to talk to Rachel about?"

Peter frowned, actually giving it some serious thought. "Hiring a body guard, possibly? Oh no, don't tell me, a stun device! A Massive Dynamic stun device!"

"I like it. But no, actually, it's a little... stranger than that. I'll tell you, but you have to promise you won't breathe a word of this to anyone else."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Or?"

She narrowed her eyes back at him. "Or I'll have to tickle you to death, Peter Bishop."

"T-" He laughed. "I'm not ticklish, Olivia."

"Oh! Oh, you wanna make that a bet."

"Ah... nah! I know you. You're resourceful. You'd find a way to win."

She grinned gleefully.

"Mmm. So?"

"Nina's pregnant. Ooo, exciting, I know! Do you think it's William's? She already flatly denied that it had nothing to do with Walter."

Peter laughed. "Pregnant." He sighed. "I dunno. That... is exciting!"

"Yep." Olivia nodded.

"Remember when Rachel was shot and Nina came to the hospital to see you after you rung her up and asked if there was anything she could do to help?"

"I'm not liking it, but yeah. I remember."

"Who did she come with?"

"Ahhh..." Olivia frowned, struggling to recall. "Well, Sam was there too, so I suppose they could have come together."

"Bingo!"

Her eyes went round. "No way! Nina and Sam! You're scaring me!"

"I don't think it's scary," Peter replied.

"No, but... What about that girl Sam was gonna meet and elope to Oregon with?"

Peter shrugged. "Does Massive Dynamic have an office in Oregon?"

Olivia swatted his arm. "I'm just trying to picture it! It's weird! Really weird!"

"Is this because of that 'If you were my daughter' comment?" he asked.

"Nooo! And it was 'I'd say this to my own...' Oh, forget it. And, no! It's not. Not much," she added quietly.

He laughed good-naturedly. "It so is."

Olivia bit her lip, and shook her head. "Aw, that's wicked. Now I'm not gonna be able to get that picture out of my head. Bad Olive!"

"No?" Peter asked, smiling at her. He tucked a loose strand of hair that had fallen into her face back behind her ear, with eyes just for her.

She tried not to smile but it was just too hard not to.

.

Nina ran a hand over her hair nervously, annoyed that her hand had started shaking. "I'm just going to come right out and say it, and..." She shook her head. "First thing's first. Apparently, according to certain professional opinions, I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant?" Sam repeated. So far, so good. He seemed to be staying cool about the whole thing.

Nina rolled her eyes. "I know! How ridiculous! But I guess it's possible. I did... faint slightly at work today."

"Slightly? Nina, I don't think it's possible to faint _slightly_ or, or whatever the opposite of slightly is. You either fainted or you didn't."

"I kind of did," Nina admitted. She could tell Sam was starting to get worked up.

He picked up her hand and led her over to the couch. "Do you feel like sitting down?"

"Do I feel like strangling you?" she returned sarcastically.

Sam frowned.

She made a face. "Don't... look at me like that! It doesn't help!"

"You're-"

"No, not with the recriminating voice, either!"

"Oh, so now I can't talk! I can't say anything!"

She put her hands up to cover her ears, but Sam just pulled them away again. She turned her head away to look at something else, it didn't matter what. Her eyes settled on the stereo system.

"Nina, will you look at me. Please!"

"No."

"Nina..." He forced himself to take a calmer note. "I'm asking you nicely here. Please, Nina, look at me."

"No."

"Nina!"

"Don't tell me what to do, Sam!" she said loudly, raising her voice to damn near close on a shout. "And don't make me look at you! I don't want to look at you at all tonight!"

Sam sighed heavily, letting his hand fall from her arm. "Are you mad at me now?"

She stared at the stereo determinately, trying not to think back, to imagine when it must have been that the baby had been conceived. She couldn't think like that, and she damn well couldn't look at Sam!

"Nina, say something."

She sighed heavily. "I'm not mad at you, Sam. I care about you. I really do. I'm just not feeling my best at the moment. If I look at you, I'm just going to want to... Sam, you have a good imagination. Use it. I think you should probably go now. I'm sorry."

"Go? No. I'm not going anywhere, Nina. We need to talk, about this! About what we're going to do!"

"I am not getting rid of our baby, okay. Don't even imagine it for one second. Are you going to argue the point with me, Sam?"

"No," he replied stiffly.

"Well then we have nothing further to discuss."

"Nothing further?"

"Nada."

"My girlfriend is pregnant and we have nothing further to discuss? Really, Nina?"

She stared at the stereo blankly. "Absolutely, really."

"So... What? I should just hit the door?"

"It would be appreciated, yes."

"You don't think I should be happy? You're not happy, in the slightest?"

Nina ripped her eyes away from the stereo and spun around, glaring at Sam infuriatingly. "Yes, Sam, I'm happy! And I'm not stopping you from being happy, either, am I!"

"Then why can't we be happy together?" he asked, defiantly holding her gaze.

She sighed tiredly, dropping her shoulders. "Because I can see where that's going to lead and..."

"Am I not even allowed to hug you now?" Sam asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you are."

He moved closer and pulled her into his arms, hugging her silently.

She sighed. "Sam, are you mad? I bet, right about now, you're wishing you'd never got involved with me."

"Neither," he replied quietly.

"Why do you have to be like this?" she asked sadly. "Why do you have to be so nice to me? I'm not a good person, Sam."

"You're a good person for me."

"In real life, Sam!"

"In real life, Nina."

"See. We're arguing again. We never stop."

Sam let go of her and held her at arm's length. "Nina, I'm thinking I may just be in love with you, as crazy as that sounds. Why do you have to question everything? Not everything in the world is bad. There are still some good things. And... life isn't just about getting what you deserve. It's also about, about bigger things. Things like love. Do you hear what I'm saying?"

Nina nodded at the carpet. "Yeah, I hear you, Sam. I just think it's bullshit. Not love, but you and me. How more unfair can it get? You may be thinking right now that I'm being too harsh on myself, but trust me, I'm not. I don't deserve someone good like you, Sam."

"Well, I happen to disagree, Nina. I think you do deserve someone who'll love you, just like the rest of us. And even if you don't want to see it from that angle, what about me? Don't I deserve to be with the person I love?"

Nina made a sad little sound in her throat, looking up from the floor to meet his eyes. "You're so mean, Sam. No, of course you're not, but to me, you are. I hate that you'd throw away what might be your last chance at happiness on someone like me! I hate it! It makes me so mad! I want to slap you! But I'm not going to, because I love you, too, and I want you to stay." She reached over to touch his face gently. "I'm so sorry for messing you around and starting another argument."

He shook his head. "Forget it, it's already forgotten." He glanced at the stereo she'd been so intently staring at earlier. "I take it that thing still works."

"Yeah," she returned, wiping her eye with the backs of her fingers.

He turned back to her and picked up her hand, looking into her eyes. "May I have the honour of this dance, Miss Sharp?"

Smiling sadly, she nodded. "You may, Mr. Weiss."

They didn't put on a CD. Instead, they danced together around the room – avoiding the coffee table and the sofa and any other object they happened to by chance meet – silently and without saying a single word to one another, both a little worried that they'd only start another argument. If they didn't talk, it was perfectly okay that two people – two people just like them – could very conceivably be in love. It was perfectly okay.

And they did love each other. When they were just like that, sharing the same space together, dancing together, they were hardly thinking of anything else but each other, and how they were in love.

And how they were going to start a family. Some day, somehow. Someway, their love would be strong enough to see them through.


End file.
